CHAPTER XIII

SIR DAVID'S MEMORY


Lady Rose Bright was faintly disturbed on Tuesday morning, and came into
Lady Groombridge's sitting-room after Mrs. Delaport Green and Molly had
left the castle too preoccupied to notice the tall figure of Grosse in a
far window.

This room had happily escaped all Georgian gorgeousness of decoration,
and the backs of the books, a fine eighteenth-century collection, stood
flush to the walls. The long room was all white except for the books,
the flowered chintz covers, some fine bronze statuettes, and a few bowls
of roses.

Lady Rose moved mechanically towards the empty fire-place.

It was one thing to try not to dislike Miss Dexter, and to see her in a
haze of Christian love; it was another to realise that, while she
herself had slept most comfortably, Molly had not been to bed at all
because the little kitchenmaid was in pain. Humility and appreciation
were rising in Rose's mind, as half absently she gently raised a vase
from the chimney-piece, and, turning to the light to examine its mark,
saw Sir Edmund looking at her from his distant window.

A little, quite a little, flush came into her cheeks; not much deeper
than the soft, healthy colour usual to them. She examined the china with
more attention.