“Hateful old woman, so disgustingly stuck up! Have you forgotten her airs and snubs at Cannes?” said Lydia spitefully. “Now she wants something badly she is as sweet as honey—bah! such people make me ill. She asks you a great favour—yes—but what can she do for us?”
“My dear,” replied her mother, with impressive solemnity, “you know very well, that she has it in her power, to be a very helpful friend.”
But it was not merely the snubs that still rankled in Lydia’s mind—she was accustomed to these; it was the never-forgotten fact, that a charming young man, who was her devoted adherent, had been drawn from his allegiance by the arrival of the mysterious beauty, Mrs. Hesketh’s companion; and though the beauty never vouchsafed him a crumb of encouragement, the capricious swain had failed to return to Lydia’s lure; Mrs. Glyn had unintentionally cost Miss Plassy her lover.
“I’ve made no promises,” said this lady to herself, “and if I get a chance, I shall pay them both out—Mrs. Nose-in-the-Air, and the divorcée.”
Now here was the ‘chance’ looking so beaming and pleased with herself, as she tripped beside her hostess, along the Liongasse; and with this girl as the instrument, Miss Plassy felt certain she could inflict satisfactory punishment upon her mother. How she talked! chattering all the time, and bubbling over with the joie de vivre.
“Yes, thank you,” said Cara, as they seated themselves, “a Pêche Melba—I adore ices!” She removed her gloves, and settled her hat with swift instinctive touches; and presently the two were exchanging confidences as they sat vis-à-vis across the marble-topped table, awaiting their order.
“We are going on to St. Moritz next week,” announced Miss Plassy.
“Are you? How I envy you! We never go on.”
“No? But why not?”
“Because we are so poor.”