The young lady over the gloves was curious—evidently something mysterious was afoot! Miss Barker now became all animation and interest, and as she took leave of her friend, she kissed her repeatedly, and said—
“Thank you, dear old Maudie—you are a real friend!”
When Major Sutton received his brother officer at the drawing-room door, he said, “Look here, Pat, I owe you ever so many apologies—I guaranteed a family party, and I’ve let you in for a ‘Burra Khana.’ Maudie had arranged it before—better luck next time.”
There was indeed a large party at 402 Sloane Street, and Colonel Doran was one of the latest arrivals; he looked very distinguished and soldierly, as he talked to Mrs. Sutton, a vision in yellow and diamonds.
“I know you were told we were to be alone,” she said, smiling; “but it makes no matter to a man if there are three, or three hundred—not like us poor women, who have to dress according to numbers. Now I want to introduce you to a most particular old friend of mine, Miss Hollington-Barker,” and she towed him over to a sofa, on which was enthroned a handsome Juno-like form. “Julia—this is Johnny’s comrade, Colonel Doran; you are to be very nice to him, and he will take you down to dinner”; and with an affable smile Mrs. Sutton sailed away and left them.
Colonel Doran stood before Julia, lamely discoursing of the rain and the east wind—whilst she figuratively proceeded to take his measure. When she descended the stairs on her cavalier’s arm, Julia Barker had definitely decided that “he would do.”
He was neither too old, nor too young—he was good-looking, a gentleman, and a soldier—with a fine property in Ireland; and as to family, her own was of mushroom growth in comparison! Maudie Sutton had given her this splendid chance, and Miss Barker meant to seize it. She had heard all about Major Sutton’s distinguished friend—a man without relatives, but possessing immense savings and a castle—who was looking about him for a wife! There was now no occasion for him to seek further than his present companion. As his partner ate her soup, which he had declined, Colonel Doran studied her stealthily.
The lady was dark-browed, dark-haired, with brown eyes, a high colour, a large mouth, and a short straight nose; her age was considerably over thirty, her figure plump; she was remarkably well dressed (in one of Lady Barre’s cast-offs), black, with pink velvet, and wore a handsome old-fashioned necklace. Subsequently his eyes travelled round the table and he noted Mrs. Sutton—fair and fluffy-haired, animated and pretty. Sutton was a lucky man! He discovered several attractive-looking ladies; one opposite had dark auburn hair and an ivory skin, whom he admired immensely. And now his own partner began to unmask her fascinations; she was a practised diner-out, and talked well. Little did he guess that on the present occasion she was talking for a wedding ring, and straining every nerve to interest this polite, but unresponsive gentleman. Their conversation really opened with that disastrous catastrophe, the upsetting of the salt-cellar.
“Yes, and it’s on a Friday!” she exclaimed, with mock tragic eyes,—“and I’ve upset it towards you, and will bring you sorrow!”
As he looked a little embarrassed by this jaunty speech, she rattled on to relate the well-known anecdote of an absent-minded gentleman, who, having spilled some salt, instantly poured a glass of claret over it—thus transposing the usual remedy. With sundry excellent, and, to him, perfectly fresh chestnuts, she kept her victim thoroughly entertained—actually so interested, that he forgot to glance at the red-headed girl—or even at Mrs. Sutton—and refused two of the most toothsome plats. What a fortunate fellow he was, to have secured such a charming companion! By turns amusing, sympathetic, or serious; he had but to listen, to look into her eloquent dark eyes, admire her white teeth, and her delightful smile. Among other things, she told him how it had ever been the one dream of her life to go to India, and how she still devoured ravenously every book about India that came in her way. She drew him out cleverly about his regiment (his hobby), his chargers and polo-ponies, his tiger-shooting; and presently he found himself talking to the lady as if he had known her for years; they had discovered a mutual Indian friend—one Bobbie Travers, late of the 170th Bengal Lancers, who was Miss Barker’s own second cousin, and he—oh, lucky man—now commanded no less a regiment than Holland’s Horse. Here was a tie indeed! Bobbie proved not merely a link, but a chain, and it was almost in the nature of a shock when Mrs. Sutton gave the signal, and the two enthralled companions were compelled to relinquish an absorbing conversation.