She was silent
and shy under those falcon eyes; but she was still the same Mary, the
girl to whom pretence or simulation of any kind was impossible.
Letters came almost every day from Kirkbank Castle, letters from Lesbia
describing the bright gay life she was living at that hospitable abode,
the excursions, the rides, the picnic luncheons after the morning's
sport, the dinner parties, the dances.
'It is the most delightful house you can imagine,' wrote Lesbia; 'and
Lady Kirkbank is an admirable hostess. I have quite forgiven her for
wearing false eyebrows; for after all, you know, one must _have_
eyebrows; they are a necessity; but why does she not have the two arches
alike? They are _never_ a pair, and I really think that French maid of
hers does it on purpose.
'By-the-bye, Lady Kirkbank is going to write to you to beseech you to
let me go to Cannes and Monte Carlo with her. Sir George insists upon
it. He says they both like young society, and will be horribly vexed if
I refuse to go with them. And Lady Kirkbank thinks my chest is just a
little weak--I almost broke down the other night in that lovely little
song of Jensen's--and that a winter in the south is just what I want.
Pages:
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252