The room was now crammed, and I noticed that our companion had a bowing or nodding acquaintance with many customers.
“Your sister is married?” observed Emma. “I saw it in the papers. You are not married, are you?”
“Perish the thought! I am——”
“Oh, Everard!” cried a clear, high-bred voice, and a tall, fair, supercilious-looking girl halted at our table. “Fancy seeing you here, lunching in the Army and Navy Stores among your parcels,” glancing at our belongings. “How very domestic!”
“I have just met an old Indian friend,” he explained, rather consciously. “And we are having tiffin together, as you see.”
“Oh, I see,” staring straight at me, with a look of arrogant inquiry, which made me color warmly: well, yes, call it blushing. Why should I blush? I had never met this man till half an hour ago, and here was this ultra-smart young woman in a French bonnet standing over me, her pale blue eyes distinctly telling me that I was a designing adventuress.
“Mrs. Hayes,” he said, “this is my sister, Lady Polexfen.” Emma bowed, and Lady Polexfen lowered her eyelashes. “I was just speaking of you, Maudie,” he added. “Talk of an angel, you know. We stayed with Mrs. Hayes in India. It was at her house my mother was so ill.”
“Indeed!” indifferently, now turning her bracelet to consult her watch.
“Mind you turn up in good time to-morrow. We are going down to Sandown on the coach. Dolly Chalgrove is coming.” She paused for a second, as if to allow sufficient time for this impressive piece of news to soak thoroughly into his mind.