It's no use, Nina; I'm not
going to marry any girl for ever so long--anyway, not until Drina
releases me on her eighteenth birthday. Hello!--somebody's coming--and
I'm off!"
"I'm not at home; don't go!" said Nina, laying one hand on his arm to
detain him as a card was brought up. "Oh, it's only Rosamund Fane! I
_did_ promise to go to the Craigs' with her. . . . Do you mind if she
comes up?"
"Not if you don't," said Boots blandly. He could not endure Rosamund and
she detested him; and Nina, who was perfectly aware of this, had just
enough of perversity in her to enjoy their meeting.
Rosamund came in breezily, sables powdered with tiny flecks of snow,
cheeks like damask roses, eyes of turquoise.
"How d'ye do!" she nodded, greeting Boots askance as she closed with
Nina. "I came, you see, but _do_ you want to be jammed and mauled and
trodden on at the Craigs'? No? That's perfect!--neither do I. Where is
the adorable Eileen? Nobody sees her any more."
"She was at the Delmour-Carnes's yesterday.
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