Sir Hector recoiled from the kiss, blew out his cheeks, and looked at his niece with the expression he reserved for wantonly hysterical young girls. There ensued a long discussion of the methods of communication with Nuckett, during which Jasmine's spirits, temporarily exhilarated by the ride behind the orange postilion, sank lower than at any point on the journey. Nor were they raised by the entrance of her two cousins, who were looking at her as if one of the servants had upset a bottle of ink which had to be mopped up before they could advance another step. At last the problem of Nuckett's evening was solved by entrusting the postilion with authority to recall him.
"You mustn't bother to dress for dinner to-night," conceded Lady Grant, apparently swept by a sudden gust of benevolence. "Pamela dear, take Jasmine to her room, will you?"
"Do you get much golf in Sirene?" enquired Pamela on the way upstairs.
Jasmine stared at her, or rather she opened wide her eyes in alarm, which had the effect of a stare on her cousin.
"No, I've never played golf."
It was Pamela's turn to stare now in frank horror at this revelation.
"Never played golf?" she repeated. "What did you do at home then?"
"I played picquet sometimes with father."
This was too much for Pamela, who could think of nothing more to say than that this was a chest of drawers and that that was a wardrobe, after which, with a hope for the success of her ablutions, she left Jasmine to herself.
Presently a maid tapped at the door.