are the colours I want for that room—gold and amber——”
This was a bad opening. I watched the shadows darken further and further along the brightness, hushing the glitter of the water. I watched the golden ripeness come upon the west, and thought the rencontre was never to take place. At last, however, Lettie flung herself down with a sigh, saying she was tired.
“Come into the dining-room and have a cup of tea,” said mother. “I told Rebecca to mash when you came in.”
“All right. Leslie’s coming up later on, I believe—about half past eight, he said. Should I show him what I’ve bought?”
“There’s nothing there for a man to see.”
“I shall have to change my dress, and I’m sure I don’t want the fag. Rebecca, just go and look at the things I’ve bought—in the other room—and, Becky, fold them up for me, will you, and put them on my bed?”
As soon as she’d gone out, Lettie said:
“She’ll enjoy doing it, won’t she, mother, they’re so nice! Do you think I need dress, mother?”
“Please yourself—do as you wish.”
“I suppose I shall have to; he doesn’t like blouses and skirts of an evening he says; he hates the belt. I’ll wear that old cream cashmere; it looks nice now I’ve put that new lace on it. Don’t those violets smell nice?—who got them?”
“Cyril brought them in.”
“George sent them you,” said I.
“Well, I’ll just run up and take my dress off. Why are we troubled with men!”
