She bowed to him and to Alicia, and passed quickly on.
"Never mind any more roses," said Alicia. "We ought to get home."
They drove toward Tallyn in silence. Alicia's startling hat of white
muslin framed the red gold of her hair, and the brilliant
color--assisted here and there by rouge--of her cheeks and lips. She
said presently, in a sympathetic voice:
"How sorry one is for her!"
Marsham made no reply. They passed into the darkness of overarching
trees, and there, veiled from him in the green twilight, Alicia no
longer checked the dancing triumph in her eyes.
CHAPTER XVIII
One Saturday in early August, some weeks after the incident described in
the last chapter, Bobbie Forbes, in the worst inn's worst fly, such
being the stress and famine of election time, drove up to the Tallyn
front door. It was the day after the polling, and Tallyn, with its open
windows and empty rooms, had the look of a hive from which the bees have
swarmed. According to the butler, only Lady Niton was at home, and the
household was eagerly awaiting news of the declaration of the poll at
Dunscombe Town Hall. Lady Niton, indeed, was knitting in the
drawing-room.
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