been discourteous to have done anything else. He had felt rather cross
as he saw Lady Groombridge and Rose turn down one of the longest walks,
one that seemed indeed to have no ending at all, with an air of
finality, as if their _tête-à-tête_ were to be as long as the path
before them, and as secret as the hedges could keep it. He would never
have come out driving with three women if he had not hoped to get a talk
alone with Rose. He told himself that Rose's avoidance of him was
becoming quite an affectation, and after all, he asked himself, what had
he done to be treated like this?

"Why, if I were trying to make love to her she could not be more absurd!
The only time after our first walk here that we have been alone she made
Miss Dexter join us, and as the girl would not stay Rose found she must
write letters."

As soon as he had made up his mind that he would show Rose what nonsense
it all was, he could and did--not without the zest of pique--turn his
attention to Molly.

"Lady Groombridge doesn't frame well here, does she?" he said, smiling.
"Rather a shock at that date--the tweed skirt and the nailed boots and
the felt hat."

"Yes; but Lady Rose floats down between the hedges as if she had a long
train, only she hasn't," laughed Molly. "The hem of her garment never
touches the earth, as a matter of fact. I wonder how it is done."

"You are right," said Edmund; "and, do you know another thing about
Rose?--whatever she wears she seems to be in white."