"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 if 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.
It has been funny and delightful, that little interlude of
admiration, but of course it couldn't go on once Caroline appeared.
Rose knew her place. She could see as well as any one the unusually,
the unique loveliness of Lady Caroline. How warm, though, things like
admiration and appreciation made one feel, how capable of really
deserving them, how different, how glowing. They seemed to quicken
unsuspected faculties into life. She was sure she had been a
thoroughly amusing woman between lunch and tea, and a pretty one too.
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