Fisher with extraordinary frost.
"Oh," said Scrap.
"I'll lend it to you," said Mrs. Wilkins, over whose face
laughter rippled.
"No," said Scrap.
"And its author," said Mrs. Fisher icily, "though not perhaps
quite what one would have wished him to be, was frequently at my
father's table."
"What a bore for you," said Scrap. "That's what mother's always
doing--inviting authors. I hate authors. I wouldn't mind them so much
if they didn't write books. Go on about Mellersh," she said, turning
to Mrs. Wilkins.
"Really--" said Mrs. Fisher.
"All those empty beds," said Mrs. Wilkins.
"What empty beds?" asked Scrap.
"The ones in this house. Why, of course they each ought to have
somebody happy inside them. Eight beds, and only four people. It's
dreadful, dreadful to be so greedy and keep everything just for
oneself. I want Rose to ask her husband out too. You and Mrs. Fisher
haven't got husbands, but why not give some friend a glorious time?"
Rose bit her lip. She turned red, she turned pale. If only
Lotty would keep quiet, she thought. It was all very well to have
suddenly become a saint and want to love everybody, but need she be so
tactless? Rose felt that all her poor sore places were being danced
on. If only Lotty would keep quiet .
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