Miss Sharpe stared for a second, vouchsafed her a little nod, then sat down with her back to Helen and speedily forgot her existence.
The three friends were soon deep in conversation, whilst she worked steadily on, kneeling at the chair she was dressing with her face turned away from the company.
Their principal topics were dress and weddings, weddings and dress, and who was flirting with whom, and what was likely to be a match, and what was not, and who looked lovely in such a gown, and what men were in town.
At length Helen, who had not been attending, caught one syllable that made her start and pause, and then listen with a heightened colour and a beating heart.
"Yes, I hear that Gilbert Lisle is actually coming back; he has been away among savages this last time, positively fraternizing with cannibals."
"Gilbert Lisle coming home!" cried Carrie. "Then Kate Calderwood will be happy at last. I suppose it will be all arranged this season?"
"Yes, his father is most anxious that he should settle; indeed, I believe he wrote him out a furious letter, and said that if he did not come home without delay he would marry again himself!" At this threat all three ladies laughed immoderately.
"Imagine any sane woman marrying such an old Turk as Lord Lingard!" drawled Miss Sharpe. "He is seventy if he is a day, bald and beaky, and with a temper that has a European notoriety; the very idea of his supposing that he would get any one to take him!"
"Yes, hideous old creature," chimed in Clara; "he always reminds me of a white cockatoo with a pink bill."
(Nevertheless, any one of these young ladies would have said "Yes" with pleasure had Lord Lingard asked them to be his.)