Dulcie, who had a sensitive and sensible horror of snobbishness, felt
sorry to know that her father would casually mention that his daughter
was staying with the Conroys in Carlton House Terrace, and that her
stepmother would scold her unless she recollected every dress she
happened to see there. Still, on the whole she felt cheered.
She had every reason to hope that she would be as happy as a companion,
in love without hope of a return, could be under any circumstances.
CHAPTER XXV
Madame Frabelle and Edith were sitting side by side in Edith's boudoir.
Madame Frabelle was knitting. Edith was looking at a book. It was a thin
little volume of essays, bound by Miss Coniston.
'What is the meaning of this design?' Edith said. 'It seems to me very
unsuited to Chesterton's work! Olive-green, with twirly things on it!'
'I thought it rather artistic,' answered Madame Frabelle.
'It looks like macaroni, or spaghetti. Perhaps the idea was suggested by
your showing her how to cook it,' said Edith, laughing.
Madame Frabelle looked gravely serene.
'No--I don't think that had anything to do with it.'
'How literal you are, Eglantine!'
'Am I? I think you do me injustice, Edith dear,' returned the amiable
guest with a tinge of stateliness as she rolled up her wool.
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