Alwynne raged silently. What was the matter with Elsbeth? She had barely greeted her.... And now to be so inconsiderate.... To insist on sitting down to supper then and there, without giving her time to make herself decent! Couldn't she see how tired Alwynne was, how badly in need of soap and water and a brush and comb, let alone a prettier frock? It wasn't fair! Elsbeth might know she would want to look nice--with Roger there.... She did not choose to look a frump, however Elsbeth dressed herself.... It dawned on her, however, as Elsbeth, resigning the joint to Roger, began to mix a salad under his eye, after some particular recipe of his imparting, that Elsbeth, on this occasion, was looking anything but a frump. She wore her best dress of soft, dark purple stuff, and the scarf of fine old lace, that, as Alwynne very well knew, saw the light on high and holy days only; and a bunch of Roger's roses were tucked in her belt. Her hair was piled high in a fashion new to Alwynne: a tiny black velvet bow set off its silvery grey; it was waved, too, and clustered becomingly at the temples. Alwynne, gasping, realised that Elsbeth must have paid a visit to the local coiffeur. She realised also, for the first time, how pretty, in delicate, pink-may fashion, her aunt must once have been. At any other time Alwynne would have been delighted at the improvement, for she was proud of Elsbeth, in daughterly fashion, and had wrestled untiringly with her indifference to dress. She knew she should have hailed the change, but, to her own annoyance, she found it irritating. It displeased her that she herself should be dishevelled and day-worn, while Elsbeth faced her, cool and dainty and dignified. Roger was obviously impressed.... Roger, to whom Elsbeth had been so carefully, deprecatingly explained.... It made Alwynne look such a fool.... How was she to know that Elsbeth would have this whim? She had never guessed that Elsbeth could make herself look so charming.... And she to be in her street clothes ... with her hair like a mouse's nest! It was too bad! However, it didn't seem to matter.... Roger, it was clear enough, had no eyes for her.... Her resentment grew. She attempted to join in the conversation, but though Roger listened gravely, and answered politely--she never caught the twinkle in his eye--he invariably flung back the ball to Elsbeth as quickly as might be. She mentioned Dene; made intimate allusions to their walks and adventures; and he turned to explain them, to include Elsbeth, with a pointedness that made Alwynne pink with vexation. She began to long to get him to herself ... to quarrel or make peace, as he pleased ... but anyhow to get him to herself.... Couldn't one have a moment's conversation without dragging Elsbeth into it? So absurd of Roger....