The season of ungovernable laughter had begun.
"Roddy, they'll hear us. We m-m-mustn't."
"I'm not. I'm blowing my nose."
"I wish _I_ could make it sound like that."
They stood on the Kendals' doorstep, in the dark, under the snow. Snow
powdered the flagstone path swept ready for the New Year's party.
"Think," she said, "their poor party. It would be awful of us."
Roddy rang. As they waited they began to laugh again. Helpless, ruinous,
agonising laughter.
"Oh--oh--I can hear Martha coming. _Do_ something. You might be
unbuckling my snow-shoes."
The party was waiting for them in the drawing-room. Dr. Charles. Miss
Louisa Wright, stiff fragility. A child's face blurred and delicately
weathered; features in innocent, low relief. Pale hair rolled into an
insubstantial puff above each ear. Speedwell eyes, fading milkily. Hurt
eyes, disappointed eyes. Dr. Charles had disappointed her.
Dorsy Heron, tall and straight. Shy hare's face trying to look austere.
Norman Waugh, sulky and superior, in a corner.
As Roddy came in everybody but Norman Waugh turned round and stared at
him with sudden, happy smiles. He was so beautiful that it made people
happy to look at him. His very name, Rodney Olivier, sounded more
beautiful than other people's names.
Dorsy Heron's shy hare's eyes tried to look away and couldn't. Her little
high, red nose got redder.
And every now and then Dr. Charles looked at Rodney, a grave, considering
look, as if he knew something about him that Rodney didn't know.