“A young lady over there–close to Sybil-dressed in white with roses. Don’t you see? How stupid you are! There–the second on the left.”
“Do you mean to say that is Miss Thorn?” exclaimed John in much surprise, and looking where Mrs. Sam directed him. “Good Heavens! How she has changed!”
“Yes, she has changed a good deal,” said Mrs. Wyndham, looking at John’s face.
“I hardly think I should have known her,” said John. “She must have been very ill; what has been the matter?”
“The matter? Well, perhaps if you will go and speak to her, you will see what the matter is,” answered Mrs. Sam, enigmatically.
“What do you mean?” John looked at his companion in astonishment.
“I mean just exactly what I say. Go and talk to her, and cheer her up a little.” She dropped her voice, and spoke close to Harrington’s ear–“No one else in the world can,” she added.
John’s impulse was to answer Mrs. Wyndham sharply. What possible right could she have to say such things? It was extremely bad taste, if it was nothing worse, even with an old friend like John. But he checked the words on his lips and spoke coldly.
“It is not fair to say things like that about any girl,” he answered. “I will certainly go and speak to her at once, and if you will be good enough to watch, you will see that I am the most indifferent of persons in her eyes.”
“Very well, I will watch,” said Mrs. Wyndham, not in the least disconcerted. “Only take care.”