The music jangled, the voice shrieked a false emotion, and Rose's
eyebrows rose with the voice. It was dull, it was dreary, it was a
waste of time, yet what else, Rose questioned, could she do with time,
of which there was so much? She could not find an answer, and there
rose at that moment a chorus of thanks and a gentle clapping of hands.
The gaunt girl had finished her song and, poking her chin, returned to
her seat. The room buzzed with chatter; it seemed that only Francis
and Rose were silent. She turned to look at him.
'This is awful,' he said.
'No worse than usual.'
'When do you think we shall have exhausted Radstowe hospitality? And
the worst of it is we have to give dinners ourselves, and the same
things happen every time.'
'I find it soporific,' said Rose.
'I'd rather be soporific in an arm-chair with a pipe.'
'This is one of the penalties of marriage,' Rose said lightly.
'Look here, I'm giving Christabel another jumping lesson to-morrow.
I've put some hurdles up. Will you come? She's getting on very well.
I'll take her hunting before long.'
'Does she like it?'
'Oh, rather! My word, it would have been a catastrophe if she hadn't
taken to it.' He paused, considering the terrible situation from which
he had been saved. 'Can't imagine what I should have done. But she's
never satisfied. She's beginning to jeer at the old brown horse. I've
seen a grey mare that might do for her,' and he went on to enumerate
the animal's points.
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