The room called the Library was the pleasantest room in the house; an old, long, low-ceilinged room with windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, with a large stone open fireplace and book-cases running from end to end and old sporting prints above them.
Before the great fireplace the tea was waiting and there also was Nita Raseley, very charming and fresh and pink in the face and golden in the hair. It was strange that Nita Raseley should have been their first guest since their marriage, because Rachel, most certainly, did not like her; but, after that meeting at the Massiters' the girl had flung a passionate and incoherent correspondence upon Rachel and had ended by practically inviting herself.
Roddy liked her; Rachel knew that—so perhaps after all it had been a good thing to have her there. Rachel's dislike of her was founded on a complete distrust. "She's all wrong and insincere and beastly. I'll never have her here again...." And yet, really, Miss Raseley had behaved herself, had been most quiet and decorous and most affectionate.
The electric light was delicately shaded, the curtains were drawn, outside was the storm, here cosiness and shining comfort.
"Oh! darling Rachel—I am so glad you've come—I do so want tea——"
"Where's Roddy?"
"Just come in—He'll be here in a minute——"
Rachel came over to the fire and was busy over the tea-table.
"Well, Nita, what have you been at all the afternoon?"
"Oh! that silly old book. Rachel, how could you tell me——"