LADIES IN LAVENDER
I
As soon as the sun rose out of the sea its light streamed through a white-curtained casement window into the whitest and most spotless room you can imagine. It shone upon two little white beds, separated by the width of the floor covered with straw-coloured matting; on white garments neatly folded which lay on white chairs by the side of each bed; on a white enamelled bedroom suite; on the one picture (over the mantel-piece) which adorned the white walls, the enlarged photograph of a white-whiskered, elderly gentleman in naval uniform; and on the white, placid faces of the sleepers.
It awakened Miss Ursula Widdington, who sat up in bed, greeted it with a smile, and forthwith aroused her sister.
"Janet, here's the sun."
Miss Widdington awoke and smiled too.
Now to awake at daybreak with a smile and a childlike delight at the sun when you are over forty-five is a sign of an unruffled conscience and a sweet disposition.
"The first glimpse of it for a week," said Miss Widdington.
"Isn't it strange," said Miss Ursula, "that when we went to sleep the storm was still raging?"
"And now—the sea hasn't gone down yet. Listen."