She had never seen
Pauline look better. But she could not help hoping that she had changed
her stockings as she watched her run lightly down the stairs to the
hansom.
She felt very downhearted as she closed the door and went back to the
sitting-room. The room was sweet with the primroses and white violets they
had sent her from Woodcote the day before. Rose felt herself pitying the
flowers for being taken from the woods and sent to wither in that stifling
air. For it was stifling this afternoon. Even when she threw open the
window, no breath of coolness came to fan her burning face. The sky was
cloudless, but yellow with smoke, and a dull haze hung over the river.
Rose thought of Woodcote, where the great chestnuts were already in full
leaf, and the gorse common beyond the wood was a sheet of gold. An intense
longing took hold of her to go home, if only for an hour or two. She
looked at her watch and saw that it was not yet one o'clock. There was
plenty of time to go to Woodcote and get back before Pauline returned. And
how joyfully surprised her aunt would be! She wondered she had not thought
of it before.
An hour later she was in the train, speeding countrywards. She sat close
to the window, looking eagerly at the green fields and the budding trees.
She no longer felt disappointed about the concert.
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