CHAPTER V
THE PURSUER IS CAPTURED
SHE was late to a late dinner. She found herself last, but felt herself more looked at than mere lateness warranted. Some of the women looked first at her, and then at each other.
Among the glances given she noted but two—Longacre’s and Julia Budd’s; though theirs were the eyes least evidently on her.
The girl was in great spirits, rather readier with her rich laugh than usual. Florence was almost betrayed into a straight stare of admiration, of wonder, at all she meant—the arrogance of youth in great beauty that repudiated the need of enhancement, either from the rosy cloud of chiffon in which she had clothed herself, or the mind, hardly awake, under the splendid aura of her hair. How she was sailing on the surface of life! But it occurred to Florence that when she should plunge into its depths—!
Longacre leaned across the table with a question to Florence, and she fancied that Julia listened to it. Her eyes and ears were unwontedly keen and sensitive for tones and expressions. The atmosphere was charged with diverse elements. The sense of cross-purposes around the table was as vivid to her mind as, to her eyes, the general disintegration upon the rising, and the confused crystallizations of people.
Cissy Fitz Hugh was already complaisantly established in the back seat of Thair’s automobile when Florence came out on the veranda. Groups of men and women stood irresolutely about, as if uncertain what disposition fate was about to make of them. Julia, thrusting on a half-coat of lace, came rushing through the hall with her air of knowing exactly where she was going.
“Why, pettie!” Her mother detained her by one sleeve. “You must put on a thicker wrap if you are going in an open vehicle!”
“But I’m not,” said Julia, with a gleam. “I’m going in the carryall.”
Mrs. Budd’s helpless “Oh!” was clearly audible.