But her instinct had not deceived her, day by day—nay, hour by hour, Angel fell more and more under the elder woman's influence. It was as if she had been hypnotised, she surrendered her will to her, and took up a subordinate position with unquestioning resignation. Although the clever widow was careful not to offend any of the girl's prejudices and susceptibilities, the household was ordered to Mrs. Waldershare's liking,—and the servants hated her almost as bitterly as the dogs. Never put out, never excited, the lady rolled along over all little obstacles, a veritable Juggernaut of self. She instituted late hours—Angel was naturally an early bird. She enjoyed elaborate and dainty meals, Angel preferred very simple fare; she liked long drives in the moonlight, sometimes keeping the horses out till midnight; occasionally she took Mrs. Lacy with her, or Sir Capel, and Angel remained at home. Lola was so clever, so seductive, so persuasive, that everything she said or did had the air of being absolutely faultless—the one and only speech or action possible under the circumstances.
She and her hostess sat a good deal together in the darkened drawing-room, for now that the weather was warmer, punkahs were moving, "tatties" were installed. Mrs. Waldershare knitted silk ties and socks with firm white fingers, whilst Angel drew, and sometimes they scarcely exchanged a word in an hour. Lola was not talkative, she never talked simply for the sake of conversation. Her silence impressed Angel far more than speech; she felt that Lola could tell her so much if she would, yes, so much about Philip, and she was sensible of a certain awe, and the strivings and painful contortions of a never-to-be appeased curiosity, and what was worse, a sleepless jealousy. She was humbly conscious that she was far inferior to this calm, beautiful, dignified creature, and as she stole long glances at her companion, she would tell her envious heart that Philip had been engaged to her for four years, twice as long as she had been his wife. He had known Lola for thirty years! How could a man outgrow a love like that? It was rooted in his very childhood. Lola had some dim intuition of what was passing in her companion's thoughts, and smiled, saying to herself, "Silly girl, she is always wondering. How wretched I could make her if I chose!"
Although the station was emptying, there were still a number of people in Marwar, and Mrs. Gascoigne, at Mrs. Waldershare's suggestion, had a few friends to dinner now and then. On the occasion of Lola's birthday—so-called—Angel gave a little party and asked the heroine of the occasion to invite her own guests. Mrs. Lacy, Sir Capel, Captain Hailes, and the General were among these, and the little affair went off admirably. As usual, all the organisation and trouble were Angel's share; she took great pains with the mènu, the mènu cards, and the flowers (Lola was so critical), whilst Lola had, as customary, all the enjoyment. She was arrayed in a marvellous and filmy gown, and wore a beautiful diamond heart and arrow—surprisingly similar to one that Crackett, the Delhi hawker, had been offering for sale. Her health was drunk, and she made a pretty speech. After dinner, there was music, and at eleven o'clock the General and several others took their departure. Then Mrs. Waldershare, with a widely encompassing flash of her dark eyes, suggested "Cards," adding "the night is just beginning." Angel's pale face expressed not merely fatigue but dismay, and her friend exclaimed, "No, no, dear—we won't bore you. You look so tired, Mrs. Lacy will excuse you, won't you?" appealing to that lady, who replied:
"Certainly, I hope Mrs. Gascoigne will not be ceremonious with me."
"And I'll play hostess, and see them off the premises," said Lola, playfully. Accepting this assurance, and offering many apologies, Angel, who had a bad neuralgic headache, thankfully retired to bed, and after a long time fell asleep. She seemed to have slept for hours when she awoke with a violent start, aroused by a sound like the overturning of a chair. Could it be burglars? She sat up and listened with a beating heart. Then she heard a cock crow—it must be close on dawn. She struck a match, lighted a candle, jumped out of bed, and got into her dressing-gown, and waited. Surely there were steps and voices outside; was it in the ante-room, or where? Had she obeyed her first impulse, and gone into the drawing-room, she would have discovered the cardparty, consisting of four men and two ladies, just breaking up. They had risen from the table.
"Look here," said Lola, carelessly handing a bit of notepaper to Captain Hailes. "I make it that."
He glanced at the total, and became suddenly white—nay, grey—but rallied, and said, "It's all right, I expect."
"Been hard hit, eh, Hailes?" enquired the little baronet, playfully. "I come off only seventy to the bad."
Yes, they had been gambling; and how dissipated it all looked, the candles flaring in their sockets, the lamps smoking, tablecloth awry, and cards scattered over the floor.
Angel, who had looked at her watch, and seen that the hour was four o'clock, came out into the ante-room, candle in hand. Here she was suddenly confronted by a figure with a shawl over her head—Tile.