“If some one doesn’t look after that girl she’ll come to grief!” said Mrs. Churton scornfully. “Since she has taken up with the Clayton woman she has been nothing but a camp follower.”
“Who is Mrs. Clayton?” said Chum, with some curiosity, but more of a desire to shift the talk from a girl’s name. She did not care for Miss Denver, who offended her taste and vision alike; but Diana’s comments were nearly as jarring.
“They are A.S.C. people—they have quarters at Mitsinjovy. She’s the woman who was at Mrs. White’s the other night in green. You could not have missed seeing her!”
“But I was not there. Does she dress so oddly?”
“She has one garment that every one speculates over. I fancy it began life as a nightgown, but she always wears it on unofficial evenings!”
“Be charitable, and put it down to the heat! Ally would live in pyjamas, if I would let him. What is Mrs. Clayton’s garment like? Perhaps I might adapt my own nightdresses—with a sash!”
“Well,” said Mrs. Gilderoy thoughtfully, “I don’t quite know how to describe it—do you, Di? But if a bathing dress had a—a flirtation with a kimono, Eva Clayton’s garment might be the result! I can’t see how it would be obtained otherwise. It is certainly a hybrid!”
Her eyes became mere slits of laughter, and Mrs. Lewin laughed too, with soft, full enjoyment.
“I shall look out for Mrs. Clayton,” said she. “She is out at By-Jovey, is she? I love that name for the Gunners’ Hill!”
“Yes, and Trixie Denver goes over there half her time, and she and Mrs. Clayton sit on the steps of the Gunnery,—on the men’s knees, I believe, as soon as it gets dark.”