Joan put Ariel into a formal, high-backed chair, facing a window, and herself sank into the low, luxurious corner of a sofa at right angles to the same window. A footman appeared—Joan had rung for him as they came in—and she ordered tea. “And we are in a hurry, please. I’m not at home to any one else.”
Then she gave her attention to Ariel. “You’re rather a dear to my babies.” She was looking at Ariel with an expression of affectionate gratitude. Joan’s charm was a weapon which she used as consciously and expertly as any master of fencing uses his sword. “They’re utterly devoted to you. I think some day soon I must invite you to have supper with them in the nursery. On Nicky’s birthday, perhaps. That’s Sunday. It would be such a treat to them that I imagine you’ll be willing. You do love children, don’t you! Any one can see.”
“I like Persis and Nicky, anyway. Very much. But whether Sunday I can get away for supper—”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be on the birthday, though that would be nicest. How about to-morrow? That’s your day off, anyway. And you know, of course, that Hugh has broken your engagement with Michael and me. So do make the children ecstatic to-morrow. Nursery tea is at five-thirty. I’ll let him have his birthday cake then.”
“Oh, I’m sorry! I should love to. But I’ve promised Hugh all to-morrow. We’re going off on a picnic in his car and won’t be back till after dark, I’m afraid. Too late for the nursery supper, anyway.”
Joan’s smile rather stiffened. “Yes? So that’s why he cried you off with us? Hugh was looking for a playmate for himself. But it’s unlike Hugh to be so uncandid. What have you done to him, Ariel?”
Ariel could not dream, and Joan herself was astonished, at how much she really wanted to know the true answer to this seemingly lightly asked question.
“No. It wasn’t that, I’m sure,” Ariel answered, too ingenuously, Joan thought, to be really ingenuous. “He’s not thinking of himself a bit. He’s worried about me. Says I’m tired. That I ought to be out of doors.”
“Sweet of him. And very self-sacrificing!” Joan was flippant, but there was something in those brilliant brown eyes—just glimpsed in them—that rather contradicted flippancy.
Tea came in at the moment. When the silver tray with its silver tea service and covered dishes was established between them on a table brought by a second footman, and the men had left the room, Joan sat on for some seconds, her hands clasped around her crossed knees, looking down absently at the food and not stirring to officiate as hostess.