"Oh no; she thinks me a goody-goody old frump."
At the same moment another brush at the splendid hair betrayed a half-consciousness of the grace of her own movements.
"She wouldn't say a word to me—she is much more likely to tell one of the men. Perhaps she will tell Edmund Grosse to-morrow; he is so easy to talk to."
"But that's no use for to-night, and Groombridge will be simply furious if I ask him to interfere without telling him how much it comes to. Billy won't say a word."
"I think," said Rose very slowly, "that if we all go to bed now, we shall have some bright idea in the morning."
Before this master-stroke of suggestion had reached Lady Groombridge's brain, a very low voice came from the window.
"Would you like me to go and ask her?"
The hostess started; she had forgotten Miss Molly Dexter. A little dull blush rose to her forehead.
"Oh dear, I had forgotten you were there; but, after all, she is no relation of yours, and it isn't your fault, you know. Could you—would you really not mind asking her?"
"I don't mind at all. Might I take your candle?"