Since even the most religious, sober women like to know they have
made an impression, particularly the kind that has nothing to do with
character or merits, Rose was pleased. Being pleased, she smiled.
Smiling, she was more attractive than ever. Colour came into her
cheeks, and brightness into her eyes. She heard herself saying things
that really sounded quite interesting and even amusing. If Frederick
were listening now, she thought, perhaps he would see that she couldn't
after all be such a hopeless bore; for here was a man, nice-looking,
young, and surely clever--he seemed clever, and she hoped he was, for
then the compliment would be still greater--who was evidently quite
happy to spend the afternoon just talking to her.
And indeed Mr. Briggs seemed very much interested. He wanted to
hear all about everything she had been doing from the moment she got
there. He asked her if she had seen this, that, and the other in the
house, what she liked best, which room she had, if she were
comfortable, if Francesca was behaving, if Domenico took care of her,
and whether she didn't enjoy using the yellow sitting-room--the one
that got all the sun and looked out towards Genoa.
Rose was ashamed how little she had noticed in the house, and how
few of the things he spoke of as curious or beautiful in it she had
even seen.
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