"Do you know what she reminds me of," continued the lady eagerly—a clever worn-looking woman, in a frumpish but expensive garment, a woman whose children and whose heart were in England—"it is a picture in a gallery in Munich. I stood before it for twenty minutes, and I went back to look at it twice; it is of a beautiful woman, a dark woman, with a face like hers—she is dressed entirely in a serpent, a great dark blue serpent, wound round her body, whose head rests confidentially over her shoulder. They are both beautiful, both similar, both wickedly fascinating—and the name of the picture is 'The Sin.'"
"My dear Mrs. Frobisher," cried Lindsay, with affected horror, "how shocking—surely sin and this enchanting stranger have not even a bowing acquaintance."
"Possibly not," she answered dryly, "but she and 'The Sin' are identical in appearance."
"And now we are on the move," said Lindsay. "I am so fortunate as to have the honour of taking you in to dinner, Mrs. Gascoigne."
Angel rose, and accepted the proffered arm in a sort of trance. Had Lola and Philip met? Would they sit near each other? Her eyes roved round anxiously, as she moved to her place at that exquisitely decorated table, covered with lovely La France roses, shining silver, and delicate ferns.
No, but it was almost worse, she said to herself with an inward groan; they were seated exactly opposite to one another; and Lola had such eloquent eyes!
CHAPTER XXVIII
MAKING FRIENDS
During that long official feast, Angel's thoughts were distracted and confused. They were engrossed by a couple lower down the table—of these she could only catch occasional glimpses—conveying a fleeting vision of a handsome dark profile and gold shoulder cords, and a lovely white throat, a dazzling chain, a dazzling face: besides all the heart-sickness occasioned by this picture she had on her left hand Alan Lindsay, sternly determined to endow her with his confidence—she fiercely resolved not to receive it. What a situation for one helpless young woman! No wonder that her appetite was miserable, her remarks vague and erratic, her face white, and her expression fixed—Mrs. Crabbe, who sat opposite, was delighted to hear her partner declare that he had "never seen any one go off so soon as Mrs. Gascoigne."—To know that her husband and his beautiful first love were dining vis-à-vis, drinking to one another with their eyes—no—no—Philip was not like that! To know, that beside her sat the avowed lover of her dearest friend, who was only awaiting an opportunity to pour his cause into her ear, was almost too much for the endurance of any girl of two-and-twenty. And Angel's right-hand neighbour afforded her no support; he was as useless as a stuffed figure, being both deaf and shy. However, she summoned her courage, girded herself for the fray, and rose to the occasion. Even as a child she had a wonderful spirit. Time after time she turned the conversation when it approached her friend.
"How heartless you are!" exclaimed Lindsay, when they had arrived at the first entrée. "I declare, you have no humanity, no sympathy—you are a stone."