‘You should grow roses here; red roses, I think. Richmond, or General Macarthur; and a pond in the middle, perhaps.’
I said:
‘Will roses grow in London?’
She said:
‘Oh surely they will! Do you think they won’t?’
Cousin Delia seemed always a little lost when she came to London; a little bit as though she were walking in a dream.
She said:
‘It would be dreadful, of course, if the roses would not grow.’
I showed her the rooms inside; upstairs and down; She said:
‘It is a nice little house. You shall have the “Little chair,” from Yearsly. It would go well, I think, in that drawing-room. Your chairs must be small, for these rooms.’