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Page 93
"Mother said that?" Scrap interrupted, surprised.
And presently Lady Droitwich began to do amusing things as well
as say them.
"Mother did that?" Scrap inquired, wide-eyed.
Arundel warmed to his work. He fathered some of the most
entertaining ideas he had lately had on to Lady Droitwich, and also any
charming funny things that had been done--or might have done, for he
could imagine almost anything.
Scrap's eyes grew round with wonder and affectionate pride in her
mother. Why, but how funny---fancy mother. What an old darling. Did
she really do that? How perfectly adorable of her. And did she really
say--but how wonderful of her to think of it. What sort of a face did
Lloyd George make?
She laughed and laughed, and had a great longing to hug her
mother, and the time flew, and it grew quite dusk, and it grew nearly
dark, and Mr. Arundel still went on amusing her, and it was a quarter
to eight before she suddenly remembered dinner.
"Oh, good heavens!" she exclaimed, jumping up.
"Yes. It's late," said Arundel.
"I'll go on quickly and send the maid to you. I must run, or
I'll never be ready in time--"
And she was gone up the path with the swiftness of a young,
slender deer.
Arundel followed. He did not wish to arrive too hot, so had to
go slowly. Fortunately he was near the top, and Francesca came down
the pergola to pilot him indoors, and having shown him where he could
wash she put him in the empty drawing-room to cool himself by the
crackling wood fire.
He got as far away from the fire as he could, and stood in one of
the deep window-recesses looking out at the distant lights of Mezzago.
The drawing-room door was open, and the house was quiet with the hush
that precedes dinner, when the inhabitants are all shut up in their
rooms dressing. Briggs in his room was throwing away spoilt tie after
spoilt tie; Scrap in hers was hurrying into a black frock with a vague
notion that Mr. Briggs wouldn't be able to see her so clearly in black;
Mrs. Fisher was fastening the lace shawl, which nightly transformed her
day dress into her evening dress, with the brooch Ruskin had given her
on her marriage, formed of two pearl lilies tied together by a blue
enamel ribbon on which was written in gold letters Esto perpetua; Mr.
Wilkins was sitting on the edge of his bed brushing his wife's hair--
thus far in this third week had he progressed in demonstrativeness--
while she, for her part, sitting on a chair in front of him, put his
studs in a clean shirt; and Rose, ready dressed, sat at her window
considering her day.
Rose was quite aware of what had happened to Mr. Briggs. If she
had had any difficulty about it, Lotty would have removed it by the
frank comments she made while she and Rose sat together after tea on
the wall. Lotty was delighted at more love being introduced into San
Salvatore, even if it were only one-sided, and said that when once
Rose's husband was there she didn't suppose, now that Mrs. Fisher too
had at last come unglued--Rose protested at the expression, and Lotty
retorted that it was in Keats--there would be another place in the
world more swarming with happiness than San Salvatore.
"Your husband," said Lotty, swinging her feet, "might be here
quite soon, perhaps to-morrow evening if he starts at once, and
there'll be a glorious final few days before we all go home refreshed
for life. I don't believe any of us will ever be the same again--and I
wouldn't be a bit surprised of Caroline doesn't end by getting fond of
the young man Briggs. It's in the air. You have to get fond of people
here."
Rose sat at her window thinking of these things. Lotty's
optimism . . . yet it had been justified by Mr. Wilkins; and look, too,
at Mrs. Fisher. If only it would come true as well about Frederick!
For Rose, who between lunch and tea had left off thinking about
Frederick, was now, between tea and dinner, thinking of him harder than
ever.
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