“Lynette, you must not use such words!”
Gertrude Canterton stood at the open window, and Lady Marchendale was laughing.
“What words, mother?”
“Such words as ‘bloody.’”
“But it was bloody, mother.”
“Bless the child, how fresh! Come and give me another kiss, dear.”
Lynette gave it with enthusiasm.
“I do like your white hair.”
“It is not so pretty as yours, my dear. Now, run along. We are very busy.”
She watched Lynette go, nodding her head at her and smiling.