'Poor thing,' Caroline remarked as the door closed. 'It's a pity she
has no daughter with an eye for colour. The roses in her hat were pale
in comparison with her face. Why doesn't she use a little powder,
though I suppose that would turn her purple, and after all, she does
very well considering what she is; but why, why did James Batty marry
her? And he was one of our own friends! You remember the sensation at
the time, Sophia?'

Sophia remembered very well. 'She was a pretty girl, Caroline, and
good-natured. She has lost her looks, but she still has a kind heart.'

'Personally I would rather keep my looks,' said Caroline, touching her
fringe before the mirror. 'And I never had a kind heart to cherish.'

Tenderly Sophia shook her head. 'It isn't true,' she whispered to
Rose. 'The kindest in the world. It's just her way.'

Rose nodded understanding; then she stood up, tall and slim in her
severe clothes, her high boots. The gilt clock on the mantelpiece said
it was only five o'clock. There were five more hours before she could
reasonably go to bed.

'Where did you ride to-day, dear?' Sophia asked.

'Over the bridge.' And to dissipate some of her boredom, she added, 'I
met Francis Sales. He thinks of going abroad.'

There was an immediate confusion of little exclamations and a chatter.
'Going abroad? Why?'