walking, standing than some women ever know. Even her speech was improving.
Never keep your rooms too dark, Campaspe continued. Bright rooms are best. Bright lights. Always sit facing the window. Then there will be no shadows and shadows across the face make even the youngest of us look old. So few women know this.
Zimbule drove away from Bendel's in a new Lanvin frock, black and severely plain. With her yellow hair and green eyes, she was sufficiently striking but she instinctively knew how to wear clothes, and was not even lacking in a certain kind of distinction. Campaspe, on the whole, was proud of her.
In the motor Campaspe ventured a question, What is Bunny doing?
Oh! Bunny! I don't know. Writing music, I suppose. There was a touch of petulance in the reply.
Nice boy.
Is he? Zimbule, obviously, was uninterested. There was a short pause before she said, Mrs. Lor—Campaspe, do you know Harold very well?
I've known him such a short time, Campaspe parried.
But what a kid!
I applaud you.
I like him.
