She leans back in her chair, and brings her fingers together, clasping them so closely that her very nails grow white. Her thin nostrils dilate a little, and her breath comes quickly, but no angry word escapes her. How can her lips give utterance to a speech that may wound the mother of the man she loves!
Violet, watching her, notes the tumult in her mind, and, seeing how her will gains mastery over her desire, honors her for her self-control.
Then Jack comes in, and Sir Nicholas, and later on Geoffrey.
"No one can say we are not in time," says Jack, gayly. "It is exactly"—examining closely the ormolu-clock upon the mantelpiece—"one hour before we can reasonably expect dinner."
"And three-quarters. Don't deceive yourself, my dear fellow: they can't be here one moment before a quarter to eight."
"Then, in the meantime, Violet, I shall eat you," says Captain Rodney, amiably, "just to take the edge off my appetite. You would be hardly sufficient for a good meal!" He laughs and glances significantly at her slight but charming figure, which is petite but perfect, and then sinks into a low chair near her.
"I hear this dance at the Chetwoodes' is to be rather a large affair," says Geoffrey, indifferently. "I met Gore to-day, and he says the duchess is going, and half the county."
"Does he mean going himself?" says Nicholas, idly. "He is here to-day, I know, but one never knows where he may be to-morrow, he is so erratic."
"He is a little difficult; but, on the whole, I think I like Sir Mark better than most men," says Violet, slowly.
Whereupon Jack Rodney instantly conceives a sudden and uncalled for dislike towards the man in question.