“I say, Mrs. Fen, have you noticed the lovely nymph in white and silver?” enquired the Secretary of the Hunt. “I haven’t seen anything so exquisite for years; do let me show her to you?”
“There is no occasion, thank you, she is my niece, Miss Glyn,” proclaimed the uplifted aunt.
“What—your niece?” echoed a matron. “Why, my dear lady, where have you kept her all this time?”
“She has only been with us about two months.”
“And you have defrauded us of two months,” burst in a young man. “Mrs. Fen, how dared you?”
“No, no,” protested Mrs. Flashman of the bold eyes and a scandalously décolleté dress. “Mrs. Fenchurch is a clever woman. She understands the art of an effective surprise!”
By this time the music had ceased, and Miss Glyn, a little breathless and looking radiantly happy, was brought back to her aunt—now encompassed by a number of men clamouring for introductions. In the midst of this triumphant scene, a square-shouldered individual, perfectly groomed, with the blue of his strong beard showing through his heavy, clean-shaven face, stepped up on the platform. It was the psychological moment! Here was the girl he had noticed at the gate, surrounded by competitive partners, and he said to himself, “No wonder!” This dazzling vision in white and silver, eclipsed every woman in the room! He accosted Mrs. Fenchurch with unusual empressement, and then glanced interrogatively at her companion.
“Oh, let me present you to my niece—Mr. Blagdon—Miss Glyn,” she murmured with effusive haste.
“Got any dances to spare?” he asked with an off-hand air.
“Yes,” she answered; “I have two or three left—but——”