“I never saw such pearls in my life,” Zoe whispered. “And how lovely she is! I do not understand, though, why she is so interested in you.”
“She mistakes me for some one, perhaps.”
It certainly seemed probable. Even at that moment she touched her escort upon the arm, and he distinctly looked across at Laverick. It was obvious that he was the subject of her conversation.
“I know the man,” Laverick said. “He was at Harrow with me, and I have played cricket with him since. But I have certainly never met Mademoiselle Idiale. One does not forget that sort of person.”
“Her figure is magnificent,” Zoe murmured wistfully. “Do you like tall women very much, Mr. Laverick?”
“I adore them,” he answered, smiling, “but I prefer small ones.”
“We are very foolish people, you and I,” she laughed. “We came together so strangely and yet we talk such frivolous nonsense.”
“You are making me young again,” he declared.
“Oh, you are quite young enough!” she assured him. “To tell you the truth, I am jealous. Mademoiselle Idiale looks at you all the time. Look at her now. Is she not beautiful?”
There was no doubt about her beauty, but those who were criticising her—and she was by far the most interesting person in the room—thought her a little sad. Though Bellamy was doing his utmost to be entertaining, her eyes seemed to travel every now and then over his head and out of the room. Wherever her thoughts were, one could be very sure that they were not fixed upon the subject under discussion.