“The colour?” he queried.
Pippa nodded. “The picture,” she said, “is red. She”—Pippa looked at the Duchessa—“is blue. Oh, but very blue, like—like zat.” She pointed towards a sapphire vase on Paul’s mantelpiece.
Paul and Sara looked at each other. There was the tiniest—just the very tiniest—look of triumph in Paul’s eyes.
Sara laughed outright. “Mr. Treherne,” she said, “aren’t you longing to say ‘I told you so’?”
“I think,” replied Paul, “Pippa has said it for me.”
Sara turned to Pippa.
“Then,” she said, “it is the colour of the dress that is wrong?”
Again Pippa nodded.
“Sometimes ze dresses zey not matter,” she said thoughtfully, “but for you ze real—oh, but it hurt.” She clasped her hands against her heart with a little tragic gesture.
“What’s to be done?” asked Sara as Paul handed her the coffee.