She had felt so sure that Godfrey Radmore would manage to get away from
Old Place, and call on her this afternoon, for Jack Tosswill had told her
that he was arriving before tea--she felt depressed and disappointed
though she had not yet given up hope.
She wondered if he would come alone the first time, or if one of
the girls would accompany him. She felt just a little afraid of
Rosamund--Rosamund was so very pretty with all the added, evanescent
charm of extreme youth. She told herself that it was lucky that she,
Enid, and Godfrey Radmore were already friends, and good friends too.
Twice she went up into her bedroom and gave a long, searching, anxious
look at herself in the narrow panel mirror which she had fixed on to one
of the cupboard doors. That there is no truer critic of herself, and of
her appearance, than a very pretty woman, is generally true even of the
vainest and most self-confident of her sex.
Enid Crofton had put on a white serge skirt, and a white woolen jumper,
the only concession to her new widowhood being that the white jumper was
bordered in pale grey of a shade that matched her shoes and stockings.
Though her anxious surveys of herself had been reassuring, she felt
nervous, and a trifle despondent.
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