nonsense, said that she would love to come, and it was very nice of him to ask her.
Rory had asked her only because so far he hadn ’ t run across any of the girls he ’ d taken dancing last year. She was not at all the type he liked: he far preferred girls who were tall and dark and more sophisticated than this little fair girl. But when the dimple in her left cheek deepened, he thought that after all she might be rather fun, and was quite glad that he had asked her.
John ’ s eyes met Vivian ’ s. “Will you come, too? I ’ m afraid I can ’ t boast of any connections as grand as Rory ’ s. But I did win a prize for dancing the highland fling at Miss Moffat ’ s Dancing Academy in Melrose when I was six!”
She hadn ’ t danced since Pete ’ s death ... Besides, she was quite sure John Ainslie didn ’ t really want to take her dancing: he had only asked her so that she wouldn ’ t be left out—and she had upset his programme quite enough already! So she thanked him, but refused, saying that after two long sessions on the nursery slopes she would be far too tired and sleepy to go dancing.
Valerie followed Vivian upstairs sedately enough, but once their bedroom door had closed behind them she seized her sister round her slender waist and hugged her.
“Oh, Vivian—what bliss! D ’ you realize I ’ ve never been to a proper dance in all my life? — only schoolroom affairs while I was still at school, and we had lemonade and jelly about half past nine and there was frightful trouble if one wasn ’ t home by ten—And now I ’ m actually going to wear a Real Evening Dress, and go to a Real Dance, with a Real Young Man! And it ’ s all thanks to you. I do wish you were coming too ... ” Releasing Vivian, she began unfastening her frock. “Why do you dislike John Ainslie? I think he ’ s so nice!”
“Dislike him? But I don ’ t! I like him very much! What made you think I didn ’ t?”
Valerie was brushing the pale gold meshes of her hair.
“I don ’ t quite know ... Perhaps it was the way you said you didn ’ t want to go to the dance with him.”
“Oh, dear—wasn ’ t I polite about it?”
“Oh, yes ... Perhaps a little brusque, that ’ s all.” Vivian looked so dismayed that Valerie wished she hadn ’ t mentioned it. She changed the subject. “Which dress shall I wear—the white one?”
“Why not sleep on it?”
Valerie pretended to misunderstand. “If I do that it will be far too crumpled to be fit to wear to-morrow!”
Vivian laughed. “Idiot! ... You must wear my fur-lined coat. It ’ s so warm in the hotel that one forgets how bitterly cold it is outside, at night.” But though they laughed and talked of other things, Vivian was weighed down by vague depression. If Valerie had thought her brusque, John Ainslie must have thought so too. And he had been so kind, he was so nice—she couldn ’ t bear that he should think she was ungrateful or ungracious!
Her last thought as she fell asleep was that somehow, as soon as possible, she must put the matter right.
CHAPTER FOUR
Valerie was dressing for the dance. She and Vivian had come in tired, although less tired than yesterday; probably their muscles were becoming accustomed to the unfamiliar efforts being demanded of them. But after resting on her bed while Vivian bathed and changed and went away so that she might have the bedroom to herself, and lying relaxed in a hot bath with pads of cold witch hazel on her closed eyes, she felt as fresh as ever.
Which frock should it be? The one of white lace, with a stiffened petticoat beneath its full skirt, or the grey chiffon? Looking at them on their hangers, she decided on the grey. She had been surprised at first when Vivian had pounced upon it in the shop—grey for an evening dress had seemed so elderly . But as soon as she had tried it on it had been obvious that Vivian was right. It was of chiffon, pale as pewter, warmed by a hint of softest rose that shimmered
Rory had asked her only because so far he hadn ’ t run across any of the girls he ’ d taken dancing last year. She was not at all the type he liked: he far preferred girls who were tall and dark and more sophisticated than this little fair girl. But when the dimple in her left cheek deepened, he thought that after all she might be rather fun, and was quite glad that he had asked her.
John ’ s eyes met Vivian ’ s. “Will you come, too? I ’ m afraid I can ’ t boast of any connections as grand as Rory ’ s. But I did win a prize for dancing the highland fling at Miss Moffat ’ s Dancing Academy in Melrose when I was six!”
She hadn ’ t danced since Pete ’ s death ... Besides, she was quite sure John Ainslie didn ’ t really want to take her dancing: he had only asked her so that she wouldn ’ t be left out—and she had upset his programme quite enough already! So she thanked him, but refused, saying that after two long sessions on the nursery slopes she would be far too tired and sleepy to go dancing.
Valerie followed Vivian upstairs sedately enough, but once their bedroom door had closed behind them she seized her sister round her slender waist and hugged her.
“Oh, Vivian—what bliss! D ’ you realize I ’ ve never been to a proper dance in all my life? — only schoolroom affairs while I was still at school, and we had lemonade and jelly about half past nine and there was frightful trouble if one wasn ’ t home by ten—And now I ’ m actually going to wear a Real Evening Dress, and go to a Real Dance, with a Real Young Man! And it ’ s all thanks to you. I do wish you were coming too ... ” Releasing Vivian, she began unfastening her frock. “Why do you dislike John Ainslie? I think he ’ s so nice!”
“Dislike him? But I don ’ t! I like him very much! What made you think I didn ’ t?”
Valerie was brushing the pale gold meshes of her hair.
“I don ’ t quite know ... Perhaps it was the way you said you didn ’ t want to go to the dance with him.”
“Oh, dear—wasn ’ t I polite about it?”
“Oh, yes ... Perhaps a little brusque, that ’ s all.” Vivian looked so dismayed that Valerie wished she hadn ’ t mentioned it. She changed the subject. “Which dress shall I wear—the white one?”
“Why not sleep on it?”
Valerie pretended to misunderstand. “If I do that it will be far too crumpled to be fit to wear to-morrow!”
Vivian laughed. “Idiot! ... You must wear my fur-lined coat. It ’ s so warm in the hotel that one forgets how bitterly cold it is outside, at night.” But though they laughed and talked of other things, Vivian was weighed down by vague depression. If Valerie had thought her brusque, John Ainslie must have thought so too. And he had been so kind, he was so nice—she couldn ’ t bear that he should think she was ungrateful or ungracious!
Her last thought as she fell asleep was that somehow, as soon as possible, she must put the matter right.
CHAPTER FOUR
Valerie was dressing for the dance. She and Vivian had come in tired, although less tired than yesterday; probably their muscles were becoming accustomed to the unfamiliar efforts being demanded of them. But after resting on her bed while Vivian bathed and changed and went away so that she might have the bedroom to herself, and lying relaxed in a hot bath with pads of cold witch hazel on her closed eyes, she felt as fresh as ever.
Which frock should it be? The one of white lace, with a stiffened petticoat beneath its full skirt, or the grey chiffon? Looking at them on their hangers, she decided on the grey. She had been surprised at first when Vivian had pounced upon it in the shop—grey for an evening dress had seemed so elderly . But as soon as she had tried it on it had been obvious that Vivian was right. It was of chiffon, pale as pewter, warmed by a hint of softest rose that shimmered
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