"What will be the end of it, do you think?"
The other shrugged her shoulders. "What has been the end of all his affairs with women? Scandal and unpleasantness for them, and certainly, in one instance at least, disgrace and divorce, while he has gone scot free. He was notorious before he came here from the Punjaub, and yet he goes on as if nothing had happened. Some people run after him because he's a rich barrister and can entertain, and gives himself airs. Look at that little idiot over there, hanging on his every word. Her husband would be furious. I dare say he'll be here in a minute, and then we shall see."
Mrs. Greaves left her seat. She intended that these "tattle-snakes," as she dubbed all scandalmongers, should suffer disappointment. If she could help it there should be no thrilling little scene for them to witness with malevolent enjoyment. Deliberately she made her way across the room towards the couple under observation.
Mr. Kennard rose at once and gave her his chair, drawing another one forward for himself. He looked very handsome, very self-contained; even Mrs. Greaves was grudgingly conscious of his attraction, much as she distrusted and disliked him.
"Rafella," she began in plausible entreaty, "could you possibly give me a lift home? My old man has evidently forgotten that he was to pick me up on his way back from polo, and we've people coming to dinner. I shall hardly have time to make the salad and put out the dessert!"
Mrs. Coventry hesitated perceptibly. She looked at Mr. Kennard, who did not return her glance. His face was blandly impassive.
"Are you waiting for your husband?" inquired Mrs. Greaves. "If so, perhaps Mr. Kennard would drive me home." She hoped with fervour that her own husband would not arrive inconveniently, before she could complete her manœuvre.
Mrs. Greaves, remembering that Mr. Kennard's bungalow was next door to that of the Coventrys, felt more than ever determined to lure Rafella away, and to take the opportunity of speaking her mind. She, of course, could not know that Mrs. Coventry had intended to remain at the club till her husband must have started for the mess. She was only aware that Rafella was reluctant to leave.
"Oh, then," she said cheerfully, "that's all right. Would you mind if we started at once?" She turned to Mr. Kennard. "If my husband should turn up after all, would you tell him I've gone? It will serve him right for being so late."
Presently the two women were driving swiftly along the broad road that led from the club to the native cavalry lines. Mrs. Greaves kept up a desultory flow of small talk until they arrived at the steps of the veranda. Then she said urgently: "Rafella, I want you to come in for a moment."