"Clem's got paint on again.... She never used to do it ... I wonder if Bill has been badly hit in the slump? There's something wrong!"
"I hear that Nick came in from the camp at the last moment. Do you think it could possibly be true, Clem?" said Mrs. Capron.
"That depends on who told you."
"Young Head. He said he heard someone say that Nick and your Billy were both at the Club. Perhaps they are going to surprise us by appearing." Mrs. Capron's voice did not express much enthusiasm. Clem's eyes flashed like lightning round the room, in search of young Head, and she saw him immediately, busily collecting dances. She had an inclination to rush straight over to him, but she curbed it. Another inclination that almost overwhelmed her was to fly from the hall, and take a rickshaw to the Club; but she curbed that too, though to do so cost an effort that threw up her rouge-spots more clearly by reason of the increased pallor of her cheeks. She continued to talk easily.
"How did you get here, Mary?"
"I drove down with Mrs. Lace. How do I look, darling? This is my Machinka gown ... you haven't seen it before, have you?"
"Perfect, dear. I never saw you look more beautiful.... Isn't Poppy wonderful to-night, too? ... she looks like a woman who has stepped out of a dream ... no wonder the men crowd round her. If I could only catch her eye, we'd move on."
When Poppy's card was all but full, a voice said at her elbow:
"Don't forget me." Nothing could have looked more out of place in that gay ball-room than Abinger's scarred, sardonic face. But he stood there, cool and irreproachably dressed.
"I'm sorry. I'm afraid there are none left."