unkind. Pamela, when she didn't like a way of talking--when Rosalind, for
instance, was being malicious or indecent or both--would skilfully carry
the talk somewhere else. She could be a rapid and good talker, and could
tell story after story, lightly and coolly, till danger points were past.
Pamela was beautifully bred; she had _savoir-faire_ as well as kindness,
and never lost control of herself. These family gatherings really bored
her a little, because her work and interests lay elsewhere, but she would
never admit or show it. She was kind even to Rosalind, though cool. She
had always been kind and cool to Rosalind, because Gilbert was her
special brother, and when he had married this fast, painted and
unHilaryish young woman, she had seen the necessity for taking firm hold
of an attitude in the matter and retaining it. No one, not even Neville,
not even Frances Carr, had ever seen behind Pamela's guard where Rosalind
was concerned. When Nan abused Rosalind, Pamela would say "Don't be a
spitfire, child. What's the use?" and change the subject. For Rosalind
was, in Pamela's view, one of the things which were a pity but didn't
really matter, so long as she didn't make Gilbert unhappy. And Gilbert,
so far, was absurdly pleased and proud about her, in spite of occasional
disapprovals of her excessive intimacies with others.

But, whatever they all felt about Rosalind, there was no doubt that the
family party was happier for her departure. The departure of in-laws,
even when they are quite nice in-laws, often has this effect on family
parties. Mrs. Hilary had her three daughters to herself--the girls, as
she still called them. She felt cosy and comforted, though in pain, lying
on the sofa by the bay window in the warm afternoon sunshine, while
Grandmama looked at the London Mercury, which had just come by the post,
and the girls talked.