“The name of a new rose,” he said. “Michael Field, the new under-gardener at the Hall, gave it to me. He tells me it is a very free flowerer, and has a lovely scent. Do you care to have the name, Duchessa?” He held the slip of paper towards her.
The Duchessa looked carelessly at it. Trix was looking at the Duchessa.
“No, thank you,” she replied. “We have plenty of roses here, and Thornby can no doubt give me the name of any new kinds I shall want.”
Now it was not merely an entirely unnecessary refusal, but the tone of the speech was nearly, if not quite, deliberately rude. It was a terribly big prickle, and showed itself perfectly distinctly. There wasn’t even the smallest semblance of disguise about it.
Doctor Hilary put the paper and his tobacco pouch back into his pocket.
“I must be off,” he said in an oddly quiet voice. “I’ve one or two other calls to make.”
Miss Tibbutt walked towards the house with him,—to fetch some more knitting, so she announced. Trix suspected a little mental stroking.
“What’s the matter, Pia?” asked Trix calmly, leaning back in her chair.
“The matter?” said Pia, the faintest suspicion of a flush in her cheeks.
“You were very—very snubbing to Doctor Hilary,” announced Trix, still calmly. Inwardly she was not so calm. In fact, her heart was thumping quite loudly.