NineRosie Kelly dipped her spoon into the ice cream, scraped around the side of the dish and consumed it in tiny nibbling bites, camping up a delighted swoon. “Yuuummm!”
Isabella giggled, despite her gloomy mood. Rosie could make one syllable like “Yum” sound funny — and Irish. She had a natural gift for comedy, as Isabella had seen when they were on stage together last year with Lotta Crabtree’s troupe.
“Shush!” Rosie waved the spoon in the air reprovingly. “It’s just as well we’re here in Basil’s suite or the ‘rising star’ would be attracting negative attention.”
Isabella’s mood sobered. “I know. Isn’t it terrible? Here I am in mourning for Alycia and I can still laugh with you. It’s not right, is it?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. What do you think Alycia would say?” Rosie regarded
