'I assure you, Edith,' said Bruce, looking very uncomfortable, 'that I had forgotten which way it was. But, of course, I felt I ought--as a matter of decent civility to Mitchell, don't you know--to ask her once. I suppose now that you won't like me going to the rehearsals any more?'
'Oh, no! not at all,' said Edith serenely. 'I see, on the contrary, that there is nothing at all to be alarmed at. What a nice girl Miss Flummerfelt must be! I like her handwriting.'
'I see nothing particularly nice about her.'
'But she's wonderfully handsome, isn't she?'
'Why no; she has a clumsy figure, drab hair, and a colourless complexion. Not at all the type that I admire.'
'You told me the other day that she was an ideal blonde. But, of course, that,' said Edith, 'was before she refused to lunch with you!'
Early that afternoon Hyacinth was sitting in the library in the depths of depression when Sir Charles Cannon was announced. She had forgotten to say she was not at home, or she would not have received him; but it was now too late.
He came in, and affecting not to see there was anything the matter, he said--
'I've come for some consolation, Hyacinth,'
'Consolation? Is Aunt Janet in a bad temper? I saw her pass yesterday in a green bonnet. I was afraid there was something wrong.'
'Is that so? This is interesting. Can you actually tell the shade of her temper from the shade of her clothes?'
'I don't know that I ever thought of it.'
'When Auntie is amiable she wears crimson or violet. When she's cross she always introduces green or brown into the scheme. You watch her and you'll find I'm right.'
'I have observed,' said Sir Charles slowly, 'that when we're going out somewhere that she isn't very keen about she always wears a good deal of shiny jet, and when we're at home alone and something has happened to vex her I seem to remember that she puts on a certain shaded silk dress that I particularly hate--because you never know where you are with it, sometimes it's brown and sometimes it's yellow. It depends on the light, and anyhow it's hideous; it's very stiff, and rustles.'
'I know. Shot taffeta! Oh, that's a very bad sign. Has she worn it lately?'
'Oh, she has--may I smoke? Thanks--some mysterious grievance against you. She's simply furious. It seems it has something to do with somebody called Jane's sister.'