"And when do you go to Bournemouth?" "The first week in August. So I shall be able to come down one day--as Romer asked me--before I go, and just have a peep at what you're all doing at the Green Gate." She smiled with grotesque playfulness. "Oh, that will be nice," said Valentia. "It must be looking lovely now. Did Romer say anything else of any importance?" "He never says much, as you know, important or not! He's very like his poor father, who really used to sit opposite to me for hours at a time without opening his lips." "A strong, silent man," murmured Val sympathetically. "I know so well what you mean." "Indeed you don't," snapped Mrs. Wyburn. "He was the weakest creature--_morally_, I mean, poor dear--that ever breathed. He was a very tall, fine man, but yet any pretty woman could turn him round her little finger! It was his most marked characteristic." "Fancy! Devoted to you, of course. Romer's often told me." "I'm sure he hasn't. What can Romer know of my domestic troubles, as he was just four when he lost his poor father? But however that may be, I do hope, Valentia, you will wear warm, _sensible_ clothes for the garden. I never quite like the idea of your sitting out on that little terrace late in the evening with practically nothing on your shoulders. People should be so careful of the night air." "How thoughtful of you, Mrs. Wyburn! But I have a wrap--I never sit out without a wrap." "Pink chiffon, I suppose?" "Now how did you know? You seem to have second sight!" "Yes; I guessed as much. Very candidly, dear Valentia, I don't approve of pink chiffon. But we women of an elder generation are never listened to, though our advice is worth hearing, I can tell you." "Oh no, Mrs. Wyburn, don't say that. What would you advise instead then--a red crochet woollen shawl? I'll get one, of course. How lovely that embroidery is getting that you're doing! I remember last February thinking that it was as beautiful as it could be, and now it is more wonderful still. Let me look." She bent down her pretty head to admire it. "Is it my fancy, or the light, or hasn't your hair grown a little brighter in colour lately, Valentia dear?" "Oh, do you really think so? I'm so glad. I was afraid it was just the same--just as it was in Harry's portrait of me, you know." "It does look very like the portrait. But, very frankly--you won't mind my saying so?--I think that if it were not quite so fair it would be an improvement." "Oh, naughty Mrs. Wyburn! Fancy your wanting me to touch up my hair--make it dark at the roots, I suppose, as so many people seem to do! Oh! I wouldn't! What would Romer say? He likes it like this." Before the elder lady had quite recovered from the blow, Valentia went on carelessly-- "Daphne sent her love to you. She mayn't have time to come and see you before we leave." "Has she been going to any more fancy balls as Rosalind?" asked Mrs. Wyburn sarcastically. "No, oh no. There haven't been any more."