She had not the energy nor the desire. She would drift on,
never submerged by any passion, keeping her head calmly above water,
looking coldly at the interminable sea. This was her conviction, but
she was not without a secret hope that she might at last be carried to
some unknown island, odorous, surprising and her own, where she would,
for the first time, experience some kind of excess.
4
The little dinner was duly given to the Sales. The Sales returned the
compliment; and Mrs. Batty, not to be outdone, offered what could only
adequately be described as a banquet in honour of the bride; there was
a general revival of hospitality, and the Malletts were at every
function. This was Caroline's reward for her instructed enthusiasm for
Christabel Sales, and before long the black sequin dress gave way to a
grey brocade and a purple satin, and the period of mourning was at an
end. For Rose, these entertainments were only interesting because the
Sales were there, and she hardly knew at what moment annoyance began
to mingle definitely with her pity for the little lady with the wary
eyes, or when the annoyance almost overcame the pity.
It might have been at a dinner-party when Christabel, seated at the
right hand of a particularly facetious host, let out her high
chromatic laughter incessantly, and the hostess, leaning towards
Francis, told him with the tenderness of an elderly woman whose own
romance lies far behind her, that it was a pleasure to see Mrs.
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