It was pretty once----" she gave a little laugh, "twelve
years ago. How long years seem! Was I--was I pretty, Betty--twelve years
ago?"
"Twelve years is not such a long time." Betty took her hand and drew her
to a sofa. "Let us sit down and talk about it."
"There is nothing much to talk about. This is it----" taking in the room
with a wave of her hand. "I am it. Ughtred is it."
"Then let us talk about England," was Bettina's light skim over the thin
ice.
A red spot grew on each of Lady Anstruthers' cheek bones and made her
faded eyes look intense.
"Let us talk about America," her little birdclaw of a hand clinging
feverishly. "Is New York still--still----"
"It is still there," Betty answered with one of the adorable smiles
which showed a deep dimple near her lip. "But it is much nearer England
than it used to be."
"Nearer!" The hand tightened as Rosy caught her breath.
Betty bent rather suddenly and kissed her. It was the easiest way of
hiding the look she knew had risen to her eyes. She began to talk gaily,
half laughingly.
"It is quite near," she said. "Don't you realise it? Americans swoop
over here by thousands every year. They come for business, they come for
pleasure, they come for rest.
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