In the dining-room she noticed with jealous eyes how carefully the plants in the flower-stands before the windows had been tended, and with what care and skill the flowers on the table had been arranged. Wilmot hung round her at tea, pressing her to eat all sorts of dainties, and she could have easily learnt a great deal about Rhoda. The old servant seemed anxious to speak of her, anxious to impress Rose with her sweetness and goodness.
But Rose cut her short. She refused to interest herself in the stranger who in a few weeks’ time would pass out of their lives again. And she grew cross at last at Wilmot’s continual praises of her.
She went back by an earlier train than she had intended. She found that her aunt and the others would not return till dark; it was no good to wait for them.
She walked from Victoria to Chelsea along the Embankment, trying to convince herself that it was good to be in London. But her step flagged as she went up the stone stairs, and when she got to the flat and found that Pauline had not returned, a great flood of loneliness rushed over her. She put her flowers down on the table, and, covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears.
CHAPTER VIII. AN INVITATION.
It was nearly ten o’clock when Pauline returned. Madame Verney had begged her so hard to stay and keep her company that she had not been able to refuse, she told Rose, with many caresses.
“I have been thinking of you all the time, you poor darling. But what could I do? Félicie—she begged me this evening to call her Félicie—was so bent on my staying. I am going to take you to see her tomorrow. I talked so much about my little English Rose. And what have you been doing with yourself? What a pity you did not go to the concert! It was glorious. We had delightful seats. I never enjoyed a concert so much before.”
“I have been to Woodcote,” Rose broke in. “It was such a lovely afternoon I could not stay indoors.”