She was one of the
few women who really can think, and enjoy it. This morning she soon put
down the mad clever little prophetic Oxford journal. Considering she
was usually the most reposeful woman in London, she was rather restless
today. She glanced round the little room; there was nothing in it to
distract or irritate, or even to suggest a train of thought; except
perhaps the books; everything was calming and soothing, with a touch of
gaiety in the lightness of the wall decorations. An azalea, certainly,
would be a good note. The carpet, and almost everything in the room,
was green, except the small white enamelled piano. Today she felt that
she wanted to use all her influence to get Aylmer to confide in her
more. Perhaps he was slipping away from her--she would have been only a
little incident in his existence--while she certainly wished it to go
on. Seeing this, perhaps it oughtn't to go on. She wondered if he would
laugh or be serious today... whether...
* * * * *
Miss Bennett had come up in the lift with a heap of cardboard boxes,
and the azalea. A taxi was waiting at the door.
Edith opened the boxes, cutting the string with scissors. She put four
gowns out on the sofa. Grace explained that two were cloaks, two were
gowns--all she could get.
'That's the one,' said Edith, taking out one of a deep blue colour,
like an Italian sky on a coloured picture post-card.
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