"There is some typing I want to finish," said Desire. "I have been letting myself get shamefully behind."
CHAPTER XXI
The weather on the day of Desire's reception could scarcely have been bettered. Rain had fallen during the night; fallen just sufficiently to lay the dust on the drive and liberate all the thousand flower scents in the drowsy garden. It was hot enough for the most summery dresses and cool enough for a summer fur. What more could be desired?
Bainbridge was expectant. It was known that Miss Campion was excelling herself in honor of her nephew's bride, and the bride herself was alluringly rumored to be a personality. It is doubtful if anyone really believed the "part Indian" suggestion, but there were those who liked to dally with it. Its possibility was a taste of lemon on a cloyed tongue.
"They say she is part Indian—fancy, a Spence!"
"Nonsense. I asked Dr. Rogers about it and he made me feel pretty foolish. The truth is—her parents are both English. The father is a doctor, at one time a most celebrated physician in London."
"Physicians who are celebrated in London usually stay there."
"And I am sure she is dark enough."
"Not with that skin! And her eyes are grey."