"Why should I? What do they do? Father and Michael and Nicky don't interfere with me any more than Mother does."
"You know I'm not thinking of them. They don't really matter."
"Who are you thinking of then? Frank Drayton? You needn't!"
It was mean of Rosalind to hit below the belt like that, when she knew that she was safe. Michael had never been brought against her and never would be. It was disgusting of her to imply that Dorothy's state of mind was palpable, when her own (though sufficiently advertised by her behaviour) had received from Michael's sister the consecration of silence as a secret, tragic thing.
They had reached the tram-lines.
At the sight of the Charing Cross `bus Rosalind assumed an air of rollicking, adventurous travel.
"My hat! What an evening! I shall have a ripping ride down. Don't say there's no room on the top. Cheer up, Dorothy!"
Which showed that Rosalind Jervis was a free woman, suggested that life had richer thrills than marrying Dorothy's brother Michael, and fixed the detested imputation securely on her friend.
Dorothy watched her as she swung herself on to the footboard and up the stair of the motor bus. There was room on the top. Rosalind, in fact, had the top all to herself.