7
David left early the next morning. Evidently from him, too, Concha had received an invitation to a dinner and a play, for as they said good-bye she said, “Well then, Thursday, 16th, at the Savoy—it will be divine.”
Rory did not leave till after tea.
Teresa’s offer of sleeping, owing to the shortage of rooms, in her father’s dressing-room during the week-end, had been accepted, and Rory had been put into her bedroom; when she went up to dress for dinner on Monday night she had noticed, on going near the bed, a smell which seemed familiar. Suddenly she realised that it was the smell of Rory’s hair-wash—the housemaid had actually forgotten to change the sheets.
Teresa had flushed, and her heart had begun to beat in an odd, fluttering way; but she went down to dinner without ringing for the housemaid.
When she came up for the night the smell was still there. She undressed, and stood for some seconds by the bed, her eyes shut, her hands clenched; and then, blushing crimson, all over her face and neck, and, flinging on her dressing-gown, driven by some strange instinct, she flew to Concha’s room.
Concha’s light was out. She walked up to the bed and gently shaking her said, “Concha! Concha! May I sleep with you? They’ve forgotten to change the sheets on my bed.”
“Sheets? What sheets?” said Concha in a sleepy voice.
“In my room ... you know Captain Dundas has been sleeping there.”