As she sat down by Mrs. Ogden, her bright brown eyes looked inquisitively round the room, resting for an instant on the admiral's portrait, and then on the relics upon the occasional table. Mrs. Ogden watched her, secretly triumphant.
"Dear Lady Loo. How good of you to come to our little gathering. My Day I call it—very foolish of me—but after all—— Oh, yes, how very kind of you—— But then, why rob your hothouses for poor little me? You forgot to bring them? Oh, never mind, it's the thought that counts, is it not? Your speaking of peaches makes me feel quite homesick for Chesham—we had such acres of glass at Chesham!—Yes, that is Joan—come here, Joan dear! Naughty child, she will insist on keeping her hair short. You think it suits her? Really? Clever? Well—run away, Joan darling—yes, frankly, very clever, so Miss Rodney thinks. Attractive? You think so? Now fancy, my husband always thinks Milly is the pretty one. Shall I ask Joan to recite or shall Milly play first? What do you think? Joan first, oh, all right—Joan, dear!"
The dreaded moment had arrived; Joan, shy and awkward, floundered through her recitation.
"Capital, capital!" cried Admiral Bourne, who had taken a fancy to her.
Elizabeth felt hot; why in heaven's name make a fool of Joan like that? Joan couldn't recite and never would be able to. And then the child's dress—what possessed Mrs. Ogden to make her wear white? Joan was too awful in white, it made her skin look yellow. Then the dress was too short; Joan's dresses always were; and yet she was her mother's favourite. Curious—perhaps Mrs. Ogden wanted to make her look young; well, she couldn't keep her a baby for ever. When would Joan begin to assert her individuality? When she was fifteen, seventeen, perhaps? Elizabeth felt that she could dress Joan; she ought to wear dark colours, she knew exactly what she ought to wear. At that moment Joan came over to her, she was flushed and still looked shy.
"Beastly rot, that poem!"
Elizabeth surveyed her: "Oh, Joan, you're so like a colt." And she laughed.
Joan wanted to say: "You're like a larch tree that's just greening over, a tree by the side of a pool." But she was silent.
The noise of conversation broke out afresh. Milly, longing to be asked to play, was pretending to adjust the clasp of her violin case. Elizabeth looked from one child to the other and could not help smiling. Then she said: "Joan, do you like my dress?"
"Like it?" Joan stammered; "I think it's beautiful."