"I'm not glad, you know I'm not, and why," he said, fixing her with his keen eyes; "you know all about it." He made a quick, eager gesture and sat down on the sofa; then he bent his head towards her and murmured, "Why—pretend?"
Colonel Gascoigne, who was engaged in discussing hydrostatics and flying levels with a brother sapper, noticed this little scene,—Lindsay's assured attitude, his confidential pose. He stared for a second as if struck by some new idea, but at that instant his attention was required elsewhere.
"Hullo!" exclaimed his companion, "I thought we were going to stay all night, and I've seen the L. G. look twice at his watch. Here come the Blaines, and a friend. By Jove, she was worth waiting for."
Philip turned and glanced casually toward the entrance, and saw Sir Evans Blaine, K.C.B., and Lady Blaine, charged with apologies, and in the act of presenting their friend, "Mrs. Waldershare."
Lola! Yes, Lola herself, looking brilliantly lovely, a very queen of society. She wore a long trailing black gown, which followed her in sinuous lines along the soft white carpet, and shimmered as she moved, like the scales of a fish. Her arms were covered with tightly-fitting sleeves, her neck was very bare, according to the prevailing mode; the black jet set off her white skin to great advantage. A slender chain of diamonds encircled her throat and fell below her waist, and a diamond comb or crown shone amid her piled-up dark hair. In one hand she held a tiny painted fan, and she carried herself like a sovereign prepared to receive the homage of her subjects.
Lola made a beautiful picture, as she stood talking with animation to the Lieutenant-Governor and became the immediate cynosure of every eye. To Lola, these were the moments that made life worth living.
Angel, who had been on the point of speaking sharply to Lindsay, held her breath as this vision swam into her view. Horror, surprise, admiration, chased one another through her brain. Her face looked white and wan, all her girlish beauty seemed to shrivel up and fade, as she realised that she and her rival were now within the lists.
Mr. Lindsay caught a glimpse of her expression, and exclaimed: "Oh the bewitching widow! Sandys of my service came out with her on board ship; she's just arrived from home. Isn't she a wonderful creation—and quite lovely."
"Not very young," remarked a lady who sat near, "but well versed in the arts of fascination. I would give a good deal to know the name of her dressmaker!—what a wonderful gown."
"Yes," agreed Lindsay, "dramatic and realistic—it's not a gown—but a personality."