It was pale yellow, and she knew Percy would have liked it and would have called her a canary.
She went out, not in the best of tempers, and Madeline also, though looking very charming, did not look forward to the entertainment, and was thinking, with rather an aching heart, of Rupert in the lagoons of Venice.
The Hilliers’ house was arranged with the utmost gorgeousness. Nigel felt a little return of his pride in it to-night. It was covered all over with rambler roses, and looked magnificent. There was such a crowd that Nigel hoped to get a little talk alone with Bertha, but feared she would not come. He was agreeably surprised to see her arrive alone with Madeline.
It so happened that Mary was not in the room when they were announced, and very soon Nigel managed to take her down, first into the refreshment-room, and then into the boudoir, which had been arranged with draperies and shaded lights.
“I just want to have a few words with you,” he said, and got her into a little corner.
There was a heavy scent of roses; the music sounded faintly.
“Bertha!” he said. “It was too sweet of you to come. I shall never forget it. You don’t know how miserable I am.”
“Oh, rubbish!” she answered. “You’ve no earthly reason to be. I wish you wouldn’t talk nonsense.”
“I’ve never seen you look so lovely.”
“I shall go away if you talk like that. Can’t you see I don’t like it?”