For a little while she did not speak; but presently she found the two men regarding her, each after the manner of his kind—Norman Druce with a dog-like kind of watchfulness, and Lord Selvaine with that concealed scrutiny for which he was famous; and in an instant she fancied that they were thinking that she was too silent, that there was something amiss, and she forced herself to talk. She sipped her champagne, and the wine seemed to give her strength and self-possession. She carefully avoided looking at Trafford and Lady Ada, and tried not to hear their voices.
As the dinner proceeded she became almost gay, but there was a feverishness and unrest in her mood which both men noticed. Norman, whose mood seemed to reflect hers as a pool reflects the sun, exerted himself to win a smile from her, and when he succeeded in getting one of her low, rippling laughs, his eyes grew bright and his tanned cheeks flushed. He had all the gossip of fashionable London and the clubs to select from, and he retailed such of it as was fit for publication in a capital style.
It was: “You remember Mrs. Everyoung, Lady Trafford? She wears a golden wig now; it used to be black, you know.”
“I know,” said Esmeralda, smiling.
“Well, it’s quite gold now. Shall I tell you of an awful slip Lady Blankyre made with her? Mrs. Everyoung went away for a week, and when she came back—with the new wig—she asked Lady Blankyre if she didn’t think she looked better for the change. ‘Oh, very much better, indeed, dear. There is nothing like change of air,’ says Lady Blankyre, innocently. They say Mrs. Everyoung’s face was a study.”
“I remember that chestnut when I was a boy in knickerbockers,” remarked Lord Selvaine, plaintively; but Esmeralda laughed, and Norman urged on his wild career.
“Did you hear of the contretemps at the Dodsleys’ picnic? Dodsley is under the delusion that he can make a salad, you know, and he had brought all the ingredients with him in a small hamper. He mixed the thing behind a tree and brought it forward with an air of triumph, and the first man to taste it was the Bishop of Barnstaple, and he sprung up and said something like ‘jam’ or ‘lamb,’ and they had to give him brandy to bring him round.”
“What was the matter with it?” asked Esmeralda.
“Oh, nothing much; only Dodsley had put in paraffine in mistake for white vinegar.”
“Our double refined oil without smell,” murmured Lord Selvaine; but he nodded encouragingly to Norman.