The laughter died out of Cecily’s eyes. “Where did you get that, Diana?” she asked. “It isn’t bad.”
But Diana’s versatile mind was off on a fresh tack. “I’m glad Dick’s coming,” she said. “He seems jolly, and Robert’s such a grumpus. Why do you let him grump, Cis? Just fancy, I was only twelve when Dick went away. What ages we’ve known him, haven’t we? How did we get to know him first? I forget.”
“Frank brought him to Carmarthen Terrace, you know. He was an Oxford friend of his. Yes, it was ages ago. I was only a little older than you when he first came.”
“Was he in love with you?” asked Diana, calmly. She had divested herself of the hat and nightdress by this time, and was beginning to brush her hair.
“Little girls shouldn’t ask impertinent questions,” returned Cecily, looking out of the window.
“Oh, then he was!” pursued Diana, quite unruffled. “How exciting for you! Of course you’ll put on your best frock this evening, won’t you? People always do when their lovers come back after many years.”
“And what about Robert?” inquired Cecily, with a curious smile.
“Well, what’s the good of putting on a pretty frock for him?” Diana retorted. “He’s grown exactly like a very old grand-papa.” She put on an imaginary pair of spectacles, and peered about in a short-sighted way. “‘Frocks, my dear, what nonsense! I’m past all that sort of thing.’”
Cecily winced a little; then she laughed. “Robert will box your ears one of these days.”
“I wish he would. It would be a sign of life. What a pity it is,” she went on, tying the “cat-bow” reflectively, “that we can’t have five or six husbands, isn’t it, Cis? Oh, I don’t mean all at once, but one after the other, as the old ones get bored.”