Yet every day the familiarity increased. He seemed to divine their engagements. If they went to their jeweler’s, or to a bazaar, he was sure to stroll in after them. When they came out of the milliner’s or modiste’s, Fred was waiting. “He had secured a table at Sherry’s; he had ordered lunch, and all was ready.” It was too great an effort to resist his entreaty. Perhaps no one wished to do so. The girls were utterly tired and hungry, and the thought of one of Fred’s lunches was very pleasant. Even if Basil Stanhope was with them, it appeared to be all the better. Fred always included Dora’s lover with a charming courtesy; and, indeed, at such hours, was in his most delightful mood. Stanhope appeared to inspire him. His mentality when the clergyman was present took possession of every incident that came and went, and clothed it in wit and pleasantry. Dora’s plighted lover honestly thought Dora’s undeclared lover the cleverest and most delightful of men. And he had no opportunity of noting, as Ethel did, the difference in Fred’s attitude when he was not present. Then Mostyn’s merry mood became sentimental, and his words were charged with soft meanings and looks of adoration, and every tone and every movement made to express far more than the tongue would have dared to utter.
As this flirtation progressed—for on Dora’s part it was only vanity and flirtation—Ethel grew more and more uneasy. She almost wished for some trifling overt act which would give her an excuse for warning Dora; and one day, after three weeks of such philandering, the opportunity came.
“I think you permit Fred Mostyn to take too much liberty with you, Dora,” she said as soon as they were in Dora’s parlor, and as she spoke she threw off her coat in a temper which effectively emphasized the words.
“I have been expecting this ill-nature, Ethel. You were cross all the time we were at lunch. You spoiled all our pleasure Pray, what have I been doing wrong with Fred Mostyn?”
“It was Fred who did wrong. His compliments to you were outrageous. He has no right to say such things, and you have no right to listen to them.”
“I am not to blame if he compliments me instead of you. He was simply polite, but then it was to the wrong person.”
“Of course it was. Such politeness he had no right to offer you.”
“It would have been quite proper if offered you, I suppose?”
“It would not. It would have been a great impertinence. I have given him neither claim nor privilege to address me as ‘My lovely Ethel!’ He called you many times ‘My lovely Dora!’ You are not his lovely Dora. When he put on your coat, he drew you closer than was proper; and I saw him take your hand and hold it in a clasp—not necessary.”
“Why do you listen and watch? It is vulgar. You told me so yourself. And I am lovely. Basil says that as well as Fred. Do you want a man to lie and say I am ugly?”