“I will send the cards to-morrow,” continued Lady Foxrock, “and I shall hope to see you both on the 29th,” and with a gracious handshake her ladyship swept out.
Once seated in her carriage, she felt herself trembling with excitement; a few civil words, a card of invitation, what had they not brought her? The match between Lumley and the New Zealander was practically broken off—in a few hours the notification would appear in the Morning Post!
She was determined to strike at once—no time like the present, and no time to be lost. She ordered her footman to drive to Lowndes Square.
Mrs. Loftus was at home, resting on the sofa in the back drawing-room. She had had an unusually fatiguing day, and looked ghastly as she struggled to her feet to receive Lady Foxrock. Her ladyship, being Lumley’s sister, had the entrée at all hours to the temporary home of his fiancée. Yet Lady Foxrock was antipathetic to both Rata and her mother. She was cold, arrogant, interfering, and inquisitive—it seemed almost impossible that she could have been born a Nesfield!
“It is a little late,” she said, glancing at a clock, “but I could not have slept to-night if I had not come to see you. I want to ask you something important about—Rata.”
The lady’s manner was menacing, and at the conclusion of her sentence the eyes of her hostess resembled those of some long-hunted animal, that the cruel hunter has tracked to its lair at last!
“What about Rata?” she faltered, as she sank into a seat; her hands were shaking visibly.
“Yes, what about Rata?” echoed a full, gay voice. “Talk of an angel, and here I am!” she added playfully as she advanced, a delightful vision in a summer gown and flowery hat.
“Darling,” cried Mrs. Loftus, “run away for a little. Lady Foxrock wishes to speak about you.”
“But, dearest, if Leonora is going to talk about me, don’t you think you are rather cruel to banish me? Curiosity is one of my strongest characteristics!”