afraid of Aunt Ruth to risk the possibility of anybody linking me up with her! If she suddenly turned up here and told me I’d got to go back with her—” She drew a long, shuddering breath at the thought and something of the brightness of the day vanished.
She went into her cabin and began, aimlessly, to turn over the clothes she had brought with her. They weren’t very inspiring and she quickly saw that, being off the peg and cheap at that, they had been cut from the minimum amount of material and that the seams and turnings would allow for no letting out. She bundled them all back into the wardrobe-cupboard with a little sigh. Just for a moment she felt that it would be fun to wear the sort of clothes she used to—
But the sigh turned into a chuckle. All those immaculately tailored trouser-suits, the delicate materials of dresses and negligees—why, besides looking out of place here, they wouldn’t last five minutes! A few grassy stains on dungarees or easily washed frocks didn’t matter, nor did rambles and briars do much harm to her bare legs that wouldn’t heal in a few days, but Aunt Ruth’s exquisite creations—!
All the same, something prompted her to study her face far more closely than usual in the rather spotty mirror. She’d never really liked using the heavy make-up Aunt Ruth insisted on, but now she felt that just a little, perhaps—
It was then, for the first time, that she realised how brown her skin was compared with what it had been and that the natural colour in her face and particularly lips as brighter than it used to be. Perhaps, after all, she didn’t need make-up!
Anyway, John didn’t seem to think so, for when she talked past the Seven Stars his greeting was extremely flattering even if he sounded slightly surprised.
“Hallo, you’re looking remarkably attractive this morning, Rosamund! What’s happened? Been left a fortune?”
“No, just I feel absolutely fit and flourishing,” she told him gaily. “Partly because it’s such a lovely day and also because I’m afraid Miss Alice is right—I am all the better for having put on some weight, even though all my clothes are getting tight!”
John inspected her critically.
“You don’t look like a heavyweight to me even so,” he remarked. “Just—” his hands moved expressively, “pleasantly curvaceous!” and he laughed. “Now I’ve made you blush—I didn’t think girls could, nowadays! Come and have some coffee?” he added coaxingly. “Just to show you’re not cross with me!”
“I’m not cross, truly,” Rosamund told him. “But I really mustn’t have extras like that or I shall get huge ! Actually, I’m going for a good long walk—and I’ve wrought just two apples with me—that’s going to be my lunch!”
John groaned.
“Sooner you than me! I like my grub! Well, I hope you enjoy yourself! If you come back in a fainting condition, I’ll cook you—bacon and eggs!”
She flashed a reproachful look at him and then asked impulsively:
“Why don’t you come too? You don’t get very much exercise—”
“Not get exercise!” He was really quite indignant. “What do you call humping buckets of water and doing housework and cooking and washing-up and going shopping—besides— ” he ran his fingers through his hair until it stood on end, a note of irritation crept into his voice— “I simply must get down to that damned play ! It’s holding out on me ! ”
Rosamund didn’t answer immediately. John rarely talked about his work and she wasn’t sure what was the right thing to say. Ought one to be sympathetic or encouraging—either, she thought, might be rather irritating.
“You see,” John went on bleakly, “it’s too long! And I can’t boil what I want to say down to the length it will have to be—at least, not without leaving out what I feel are some of the best lines I’ve written ! Oh well, there it is! My problem, not yours ! Off you go and enjoy yourself.”
“I wish I
She went into her cabin and began, aimlessly, to turn over the clothes she had brought with her. They weren’t very inspiring and she quickly saw that, being off the peg and cheap at that, they had been cut from the minimum amount of material and that the seams and turnings would allow for no letting out. She bundled them all back into the wardrobe-cupboard with a little sigh. Just for a moment she felt that it would be fun to wear the sort of clothes she used to—
But the sigh turned into a chuckle. All those immaculately tailored trouser-suits, the delicate materials of dresses and negligees—why, besides looking out of place here, they wouldn’t last five minutes! A few grassy stains on dungarees or easily washed frocks didn’t matter, nor did rambles and briars do much harm to her bare legs that wouldn’t heal in a few days, but Aunt Ruth’s exquisite creations—!
All the same, something prompted her to study her face far more closely than usual in the rather spotty mirror. She’d never really liked using the heavy make-up Aunt Ruth insisted on, but now she felt that just a little, perhaps—
It was then, for the first time, that she realised how brown her skin was compared with what it had been and that the natural colour in her face and particularly lips as brighter than it used to be. Perhaps, after all, she didn’t need make-up!
Anyway, John didn’t seem to think so, for when she talked past the Seven Stars his greeting was extremely flattering even if he sounded slightly surprised.
“Hallo, you’re looking remarkably attractive this morning, Rosamund! What’s happened? Been left a fortune?”
“No, just I feel absolutely fit and flourishing,” she told him gaily. “Partly because it’s such a lovely day and also because I’m afraid Miss Alice is right—I am all the better for having put on some weight, even though all my clothes are getting tight!”
John inspected her critically.
“You don’t look like a heavyweight to me even so,” he remarked. “Just—” his hands moved expressively, “pleasantly curvaceous!” and he laughed. “Now I’ve made you blush—I didn’t think girls could, nowadays! Come and have some coffee?” he added coaxingly. “Just to show you’re not cross with me!”
“I’m not cross, truly,” Rosamund told him. “But I really mustn’t have extras like that or I shall get huge ! Actually, I’m going for a good long walk—and I’ve wrought just two apples with me—that’s going to be my lunch!”
John groaned.
“Sooner you than me! I like my grub! Well, I hope you enjoy yourself! If you come back in a fainting condition, I’ll cook you—bacon and eggs!”
She flashed a reproachful look at him and then asked impulsively:
“Why don’t you come too? You don’t get very much exercise—”
“Not get exercise!” He was really quite indignant. “What do you call humping buckets of water and doing housework and cooking and washing-up and going shopping—besides— ” he ran his fingers through his hair until it stood on end, a note of irritation crept into his voice— “I simply must get down to that damned play ! It’s holding out on me ! ”
Rosamund didn’t answer immediately. John rarely talked about his work and she wasn’t sure what was the right thing to say. Ought one to be sympathetic or encouraging—either, she thought, might be rather irritating.
“You see,” John went on bleakly, “it’s too long! And I can’t boil what I want to say down to the length it will have to be—at least, not without leaving out what I feel are some of the best lines I’ve written ! Oh well, there it is! My problem, not yours ! Off you go and enjoy yourself.”
“I wish I
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