"
"How little you know Aunt Francesca! You can have breakfast in this
house in any room you choose, at any hour before noon, all the year
round. Sometimes we're all together, sometimes only two. Usually,
however I'm alone, as I seem to get up a little earlier than the
others."
"I think I'll drop in occasionally, then. It looks as if there'd always
be somebody to bear me company. Perhaps I'll bring Dad, too. He'd like
to have you pour his coffee."
There was no mistaking the admiration in Allison's eyes and Rose turned
hers away. He sat with his back to the dining-room door and she, across
from him, faced it squarely. For the merest fraction of a second Isabel,
in a pink silk negligee, stood in the doorway, then vanished, as
noiselessly as she had come. Her eyes were full of mysterious meaning
that Rose was powerless to translate.
"I'd enjoy it," Rose said quickly. "I love to pour the coffee and Aunt
Francesca always lets me on the rare occasions when we breakfast
together."
If her colour was a little brighter, if her voice was in a higher key,
if her eyes had changed their expression, Allison did not notice it.
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