He let the sun into the room with a mighty rattle of curtain rings; and the sunshine kissed Virginia’s hair—especially “Swan and Edgar,” so unruly in the early hours!—but her eyes would have none of it. She shaded them with her palm.
“I slept so badly,” she complained softly: but not to him, to the space about her.
Tarlyon loitered at the foot of the bed, splendid in the light, his hands in his pockets, frankly admiring her.
“I hope you won’t mind, Virginia, but we brought Julie Gabriel back here with us last night.”
She looked at him absent-mindedly.
“Oh, dear!” she sighed.
“Couldn’t really help it, in a sort of way,” Tarlyon explained. “She had quarrelled with her young man, it seemed, and she really looked in rather a mess, so I asked her down here for a few days—until she gets over it, you know. Oh, come, Virginia,” he teased her, “have you no heart?”
Virginia imagined Julie Gabriel “getting over it!” What, on this earth, had ever “got over” Miss Gabriel?
“I’m sure you’ll quite like her,” Tarlyon assured her. “She’s quite a nice little thing, really....”
“Yes,” Virginia agreed softly, “at some one else’s table in a restaurant.” Virginia hated all restaurants—except, of course, the Mont Agel.