The two started forth again in the drizzling
mist and fog, and presently found themselves in one of the most
fashionable streets of Kingsdene and standing before a ponderous
hall-door, which stood back in a portico.
Rosalind rang the bell, which made a loud peal. The door was opened
almost immediately; but, instead of a servant appearing in answer to
the summons, a showily dressed girl, with a tousled head of flaxen
hair, light blue eyes and a pale face, stood before Rosalind and
Prissie.
"Oh, you dear Rose!" she said, clasping her arms round Miss Merton and
dragging her into the house; "I had almost given you up. Do come in--
do come in, both of you. You are more than welcome. What a miserable,
horrid, too utterly depressing afternoon it is!"
"How do you do, Meta?" said Rosalind, when she could interrupt this
eager flow of words. "May I introduce my friend, Miss Peel? Miss Peel,
this is my very great and special friend and chum, Meta Elliot-Smith."
"Oh, you charming darling!" said Meta, giving Rose a fresh hug and
glancing in a supercilious but friendly way at Prissie.
"We came to inquire for your mother, dear Meta," said Rose in a demure
tone. "Is she any better?"
"Yes, my dear darling, she's much better." Meta's eyes flashed
interrogation into Rose's: Rose's returned back glances which spoke
whole volumes of meaning.
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