She was gone; and Stella, elated, defiant, rose from her bed and tottered across the room. She was determined to see herself in the glass before Mrs. Antonio came back. If she was a scarecrow she would know how long to postpone her meeting with Philip; she must be looking all right when she met Philip again.... Clinging to the furniture, she made her way to the dressing-table. Had she any legs, or hadn't she? If she felt she was walking on air, was it any wonder after Philip's letter! Now she had reached her goal. She bent forward; and in the mirror she beheld a sight that froze her blood. The whole of one side of her face was disfigured, hideous, grotesque; a great, puckered red scar ran from her forehead to her chin, shortening the contour, lifting the edge of her mouth.... She was revolting! That was why Mrs. Antonio had evaded her request for a hand glass.... Clutching the edge of the table, she stood gazing at the wreck of her beauty. Everything was gone; she could never let Philip see her; and she was so young, so young!
A few minutes later she had groped her way blindly back to the bed. She tore up the letter and the telegram she had written, tore up Philip's letter also. "If you do not write I shall understand." She could never write; Robert's legacy of punishment was complete.
CHAPTER IX
Lady Lane-Johnson looked about her handsome drawing-room with critical gaze. She moved a bowl of roses to a more effective position, loosened a sheaf of Madonna lilies in a crystal vase. The atmosphere was fragrant with the perfume of costly flowers; the whole room betokened prosperity combined with good taste, from the excellent examples of modern Art on the brocade-hung walls to the Aubusson carpet and the silk curtains that subdued the sound of traffic through the open windows. And Philip Flint's sister harmonised with her surroundings, an elegant, well-bred looking woman in a Paris gown, diamonds in her hair, round her neck, at her breast.
She consulted her list of expected guests; the pairing for this dinner party had entailed an unusual amount of consideration. In such undertakings John was of no use whatever; he would rush in at the last moment, and unless she took care would probably seize absentmindedly on the first lady he saw and hurry her down to dinner. Even now he had not returned; if she heard him on the stairs before the arrivals began she must catch him and remind him that he was to take in old Lady Bawe (though he always declared her name ought to be spelt Bore). She herself must put up with Lord Redgate, disagreeable creature, but the laws of etiquette forbade any other arrangement; anyway she would have Carmine Lake, the fashionable portrait painter, on her other side, and he was good company. Her own parents were rather on her mind; her father never considered the political feelings of his neighbours, and invariably suspected her literary and artistic friends of being Radicals. Concerning Lord Redgate's opinions there could be no question of anything so mild as "suspicion," and she had therefore placed the two gentlemen as far apart at the dinner table as possible. She knew her mother felt "out of it" among actors and painters, and authors, and John's distinguished professional colleagues with their wives who were always busy over public meetings and charity entertainments patronised by Royalty.
As a rule she did not invite her old-fashioned parents to her dinner parties; they preferred to come quietly, when she had an evening to spare, but to-night their presence was unavoidable, because Philip had just arrived from India (she had not even seen him yet), and she particularly wanted him and "the old people" to meet Lord Redgate and his daughter Dorothy, who had known Philip in India two years ago; and if she, Grace, were not greatly mistaken the young lady would like to meet him again as often as possible! Lord Redgate would not have said "Thank you" had she bidden him to a quiet family gathering; that would have to come later if matters shaped as she hoped they might. It would be such an excellent marriage for Philip; Lord Redgate had so much influence, his son-in-law would be pushed on regardless of obstacles, however glaring the "job"; his one weakness was his self-willed, impulsive daughter, who publicly boasted that she could turn her father round her little finger!
Grace knew from Dorothy that she and Philip had kept up a desultory correspondence since their parting in India. She wondered if she would have time to pump Philip in the matter of his feelings towards the girl if he and the old people arrived early, as she had told them to do. She hoped Philip would not look too "Indian." His clothes were sure to be all wrong, seeing that he had arrived only three days ago, during her absence in the country for a week-end visit. The dinner party had been hastily convened, with apologies and explanations for the short notice, directly his telegram came from Marseilles.
Was that John on the stairs? She flew to the door and saw her husband ascending leisurely.