"Certainly I don't care whose fault it is," she said. "You never get
anywhere by trying to decide a question like that. What I'm interested
in is what can be done about it. It's not a very nice situation. Nobody
likes it--at least I should _think_ Rose would be pretty sick of it by
now. She may have been crazy for a stage career, but she's probably seen
that the chorus of a third-rate musical comedy won't take her anywhere.
"The thing's simply a mess, and the only thing to do, is to clear it up
as quickly and as decently as we can--and it can be cleared up, if we go
at it right. Only, for the love of Heaven, Freddy, before you let Rod go
out of the house, give him a dose of veronal and pack him off to a quiet
room up-stairs to sleep around the clock! The way he looks now, he's a
proclamation of calamity across the street!"
She wasn't at all disturbed by the outburst this provoked from Rodney.
Indeed, Frederica, from a glimpse she got of her face as she sat
listening to his blistering denunciation of this apparently
whole-hearted concern for appearances, and his passionate denial that
they meant anything at all to him, suspected that her sister's words
had been calculated to produce just this result.
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