Her head still ached, and she
felt thoroughly tired; but when Raymond advised her to stay at home,
and recruit herself for the ball, she said the air of the downs
would refresh her. Indeed, she felt as if quiet and loneliness
would be intolerable until she could understand herself and what she
had heard.
Raymond took the reins of the barouche, and a gentleman who had
slept at the Hall went on the box beside him, leaving room for
Rosamond and her brother, who were to be picked up at the Rectory;
but when they drew up there, only Rosamond came out in the wonderful
bonnet, just large enough to contain one big water-lily, which
suited well with the sleepy grace of her movements, and the glossy
sheen of her mauve silk.
"Terry is not coming. He has a headache, poor boy," she said, as
Julius shut her into the barouche. "Take care of him and baby."
"Take care of yourself, Madam Madcap," said Julius, with a smile, as
she bent down to give him a parting kiss, with perhaps a little
pleading for forgiveness in it. But instead of, as last year,
shuddering, either at its folly or publicity, Cecil felt a keen pang
of desire for such a look as half rebuked, while it took a loving
farewell of Rosamond.
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