Rolling Stone by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page A

it?”
    Terry dimpled.
    â€œI don’t know, darling.”
    â€œSuch a relief,” said Emily Cresswell. “Because you’re everyone’s friend and so it’s quite safe, and there isn’t anyone I can talk to about things, you know.”
    â€œOh, I’m safe,” said Terry. She didn’t know about being Norah Margesson’s friend. She was sorry for her, but friendship—
    Emily dropped her voice still lower.
    â€œShe asked me to have her, you know—because of Joseph Applegarth. A little while ago I did think—because it is time he married if he is ever going to. He and James were at school together, you know. And there’s all that money. But of course money isn’t everything, and she must be quite twenty years younger—”
    Terry thought privately that Mr. Applegarth deserved better of fate.
    â€œHe looks kind and jolly,” she said.
    Emily Cresswell nodded.
    â€œOh, yes, he is. And oh, my dear, I’m afraid there’s nothing in it—at least not on his side, because when he heard she was going to be here he said she would be a handsome girl if she had a little more flesh to cover her bones with. And do you think he would have talked like that if he had any idea of proposing?”
    â€œI don’t suppose he would, darling. But cheer up, she can’t be in love with him. I mean, he’s an uncle-ish sort of person. He couldn’t inspire a fatal passion.”
    â€œOh, no, my dear. But I’m afraid—” She hesitated, and then said in a hurried whisper, “It’s the money. It’s dreadful not to be settled in life—I don’t think she knows where to turn. Oh, I don’t think I ought to have said that.”
    Terry laid a hand on her arm.
    â€œHas she been borrowing from you?”
    The dull colour mounted to the roots of Emily’s hair.
    â€œOh, my dear, you won’t tell anyone, will you? Poor thing, she was so upset. But of course I couldn’t, because James would have been dreadfully angry. You know I haven’t any money of my own, and he’s generous to me, but he always sees my pass-book, and I couldn’t. She was dreadfully upset, so I am afraid it will be a great disappointment—about Joseph, I mean—” She broke off, looked at Terry with simplicity, and said, “Money doesn’t make people happy, my dear.”
    All at once Terry felt dreadfully sorry for her. She was a great deal sorrier than she could manage to feel for Norah Margesson, who borrowed from everyone she knew and had been running after one rich man after another for the last ten years by all accounts. She said,
    â€œI know, darling.”
    And with that Pearla Yorke came drifting over to the fire.
    â€œWhat a marvelous room this is,” she said, in a voice whose sweetness matched her angel gaze. “If I could plan a room for myself, it would be just like this. It really is the most divine background.”
    Terry’s eyes danced.
    â€œFor you?” she said.
    Pearla smiled upon her.
    â€œOh, yes, it’s quite, quite perfect. I shall tell Mr. Cresswell that he must, must, must let me be painted in this room. Sorgenson is doing me for the Salon, and this room is so divinely right. I shall tell him that he simply must come down and do me here.”
    Emily gazed dumbly. If James said yes to this, she would go and stay with old Aunt Emily Leconfield at Harrogate. There were limits to what one could stand, and if Mrs. Yorke was coming here to stay—perhaps for weeks, and a foreign painter coming in and out, or perhaps staying too, and paints all over the drawing-room—well, she would have reached her limit, and even James couldn’t stop her going to stay with Aunt Emily. The thought heartened her. She cut across Pearla’s indecision as to whether pearl-grey or a very faint blue would be most becoming, and said in a flat, mild voice,
    â€œI don’t think