“Lalla!” to her niece, who was the centre of a group of men, “come here, and be introduced to Miss Gordon.”
Lalla reluctantly strolled forward, with the air of a social martyr.
“I think we have met before,” said Honor, frankly extending her hand.
Miss Paske stared with a sort of blank expression, and elevating her eyebrows drawled—
“I think not.” But she also made a quick little sign.
Unfortunately for her, she had to deal with a girl who could not read such signals, who answered in a clear, far-carrying voice—
“Oh, don’t you remember? I met you the other morning before breakfast up among the pine woods; you walking with Mr. Joy—surely you recollect how desperately our dogs fought!”
Lalla felt furious with this blundering idiot, and hated her bitterly from that day forth.
Mrs. Langrishe was made aware of Lalla’s early promenades for the first time, and her lips tightened ominously. She did not approve of these morning tête-à-têtes with an impecunious feather-head, like Toby Joy.
“Ah, yes, now that you mention it I do recollect,” responded Miss Paske, with an air which implied that the fact of the meeting required a most exhaustive mental effort. “But you were in deshabille, you see” (this was a malicious and mendacious remark), “and you look so very different when you are dressed up! How do you think you will like India?”