"How are you?" Miss Worrill asked heartily.
She was a pleasant girl dressed in Harris tweed strongly odorous from the rain. Her hair might have been arranged to set off her features to greater advantage, and it was a pity her complexion was spoilt by a network of tiny purple veins which always attracted the concentration of those who talked to her. Jenny began to count them at once.
"Come to hear Connie Ragstead?" asked Miss Worrill. "Jolly good crowd for August," she went on, throwing a satisfied glance round the room. "Have you ever heard her?"
"No," Jenny replied, wondering why something in this girl's way of speaking reminded her of Maurice.
"You'll like her most awfully. I met her once at the Lady Maggie 'Gaudy.'"
"At the what?"
"Our Gaude at Lady Margaret's. Festive occasion and all that. I say, do you play hockey? I'm getting up a team to play at Wembley this winter."
"My friend and I are too busy," Miss Vergoe explained, looking nervously round at Jenny to see how she took the suggestion.
"But one can always find time for 'ecker.'"
"I could find time to fly kites. Only I don't want to," said Jenny dangerously. "You see, I'm on the stage."