"
Mrs. Vanderpoel's heart quickened its beat.
"You were so young when she married," she said. "I daresay you have
forgotten her face."
"Oh, no!" Milly protested effusively. "I remember her quite well. She
was so pretty and pink and happy-looking, and her hair curled naturally.
I used to pray every night that when I grew up I might have hair and a
complexion like hers."
Mrs. Vanderpoel's kind, maternal face fell.
"And you were not sure you recognised her? Well, I suppose twelve years
does make a difference," her voice dragging a little.
Milly saw that she had made a blunder. The fact was she had not even
guessed at Rosy's identity until long after the carriage had passed her.
"Oh, you see," she hesitated, "their carriage was not near me, and I was
not expecting to see them. And perhaps she looked a little delicate. I
heard she had been rather delicate."
She felt she was floundering, and bravely floundered away from the
subject. She plunged into talk of Betty and people's anxiety to see her,
and the fact that the society columns were already faintly heralding
her. She would surely come soon to town. It was too late for the first
Drawing-room this year. When did Mrs.
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