"Look here," said Meta Elliot-Smith, "now that you two dear, precious
girls have come, you mustn't go away. Oh, no, I couldn't hear of it. I
have perfect oceans to say to you, Rose-- and it is absolutely
centuries since we have met. Off with your waterproof and up you come
to the drawing-room for a cup of tea. One or two friends are dropping
in presently, and the Beechers and one or two more are upstairs now.
You know the Beechers, don't you, Rosalind? Here, Miss Peel, let me
help you to unburden yourself. Little Rose is so nimble in her ways
that she doesn't need any assistance."
"Oh, but indeed I can't stay," said Prissie. "It is quite impossible!
You know, Miss Merton, it is impossible. We are due at St. Benet's
now. We ought to be going back at once."
Rosalind Merton's only answer was to slip off her waterproof cloak and
stand arrayed in a fascinating toilet of silk and lace-- a little too
dressy, perhaps, even for an afternoon party at Kingsdene, but vastly
becoming to its small wearer.
Priscilla opened her eyes wide as she gazed at her companion. She saw
at once that she had been entrapped into her present false position,
and that Rosalind's real object in coming to Kingsdene was not to pay
her dressmaker but to visit the Elliot-Smiths.
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