'Isn't it lovely, Paula?' she said. 'Do look at the petals.'

'Very nice,' was the reply, 'but it's too small to be of any use.'

There was no more talk of Egremont's projects. Books and friends and
the delights of the upland scenery gave matter enough for
conversation. Not long after noon the sky began to cloud, and almost
as soon as the party reached home again there was beginning of rain.
They spent the evening in the drawing-room. Paula was persuaded to
sing, which she did prettily, though still without her native
vivacity. Again she retired early.

After breakfast on the morrow it still rained, though not without
promise of clearing.

'You'll excuse me till lunch,' Paula said to Annabel and Egremont,
when they rose from the table. 'I have a great deal of
correspondence to see to.'

'Correspondence' was a new word. Usually she said, 'I have an awful
heap of letters to write.' Her dignity of the former day was still
preserved.

Having dismissed her household duties, Annabel went to the morning
room and sat down to her books. She was reading Virgil. For a
quarter of an hour it cost her a repetition of efforts to fix her
attention, but her resolve was at length successful. Then Egremont
came in.