“Do you see what colour the curtain is?” she asked Cicely, throwing a note of intense meaning into her question.
Cicely turned quickly and looked at the drop-curtain.
“Rather a nice blue,” she said.
“Alexandrine blue—my colour—the colour of hope,” said Rhapsodie impressively.
“It goes well with the general colour-scheme,” said Cicely, feeling that she was hardly rising to the occasion.
“Say, is it really true that His Majesty is coming?” asked the lively American dowager. “I’ve put on my nooest frock and my best diamonds on purpose, and I shall be mortified to death if he doesn’t see them.”
“There!” pouted Ronnie, “I felt certain you’d put them on for me.”
“Why no, I should have put on rubies and orange opals for you. People with our colour of hair always like barbaric display—”
“They don’t,” said Ronnie, “they have chaste cold tastes. You are absolutely mistaken.”
“Well, I think I ought to know!” protested the dowager; “I’ve lived longer in the world than you have, anyway.”