"Good! I heard that Nick was still away, and thought I might be of some use. When do you expect him back?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said carelessly. "I haven't heard from him for several days. I expect he'll stay until Mr. Lessing breaks up his camp."
"Well, I must bustle on. I'm afraid I'm late, as it is ... but that's Carson's fault with his telegrams—" He was off towards the gate.
"Is he back, then?" called Mrs. Capron after him.
"No, coming back to-night—should be in by eleven," said Bram, getting into his carriage.
At the Portals' he found that some of the party had already gone. Mrs. Portal was not quite ready, but Miss Chard was in the drawing-room. She was resting in a big chintz chair, with her white chiffon skirts foaming all round her, and her hands holding a great bunch of shining orange leaves that gave out a faint, crushed scent. She had them held to her face when Bramham came in, and her eyes were closed. She looked like a woman praying. At the sound of him she started up, and the leaves dropped rustling to the floor.
"Oh!" she cried in a wild, odd voice that Bramham did not recognise. He looked at her in surprise.
"Did I startle you? I'm sorry!"
"No—oh no ... not at all ... only I thought—" She regained her composure rapidly and sat down again, arranging her draperies.
"I believe I must have been asleep, and you woke me up," she smiled. Her face was as white as her gown, but her eyes were dark and dilated, as if she were under the influence of a drug. Bramham thought she looked like death, until she smiled, and then he decided that he had never seen her more alluring.