One manifestation of the fur-coat policy, however, could not be kept from their knowledge, and that manifestation slightly qualified their trust that Laura would do nothing unsuitable or extravagant.
Except for a gradual increment of Christmas and birthday presents, Laura’s room had altered little since the day it ceased to be the small spare-room and became hers. But every winter it blossomed with an unseasonable luxury of flowers, profusely, shameless as a greenhouse.
‘Why, Lolly! Lilies at this time of year!’ Caroline would say, not reproachfully, but still with a consciousness that in the drawing-room there were dahlias, and in the dining-room a fern, and in her own sitting-room, where she did the accounts, neither ferns nor flowers. Then Laura would thrust the lilies into her hands; and she would take them to show that she had not spoken with ill-will. Besides, Lolly would really see more of them if they were in the drawing-room. And the next day she would meet Laura on the stairs carrying azaleas. On one occasion even Henry had noticed the splendour of the lilies: red lilies, angular, authoritative in form and colour like cardinal’s hats.
‘Where do these come from?’ Caroline had asked, knowing well that nothing so costly in appearance could come from her florist.
‘From Africa,’ Laura had answered, pressing the firm, wet stalks into her hand.
‘Oh well, I daresay they are quite common flowers there,’ said Caroline to herself, trying to gloss over the slight awkwardness of accepting a trifle so needlessly splendid.
Henry had also asked where they came from.
‘From Anthos, I believe,’ said Caroline.
‘Ah!’ said Henry, and roused the coins in his trousers pocket.
‘It’s rather naughty of Lolly. Would you like me just to hint to her that she mustn’t be quite so reckless?’