The old dame rubbed her nose in a vexed way. "Gwen has something to ask you this evening," she observed. "I think it is nonsense myself. No! I won't tell you what it is just now, neither will Gwen. Let us enjoy our meal without the discussion of horrors."
This was all very well, but how was Hench to enjoy his meal when Care stood like a waiter behind his chair? The presence of Peter reminded him of Bottles, and that memory brought to his recollection The Home of the Muses in Bethnal Green, where, for all he knew, Madame Alpenny might be plotting. Then he wondered what had taken Jim to the house, for there he must have gone, as it was unlikely he would journey to such a district for any other purpose. Perhaps the Hungarian lady was already weaving her nets to snare him--the thinker-either as a husband for Zara, or as a criminal. It was very uncomfortable thinking.
And being so alarmed, Hench did his best to talk brightly and amusingly. For the time being he was "fey," as the Scotch say, and roused his cousin out of her gloom by his sallies. Mrs. Perage seconded him admirably, as she quite enjoyed a contest of wits, which was rare to come by in Cookley. The food was good, the wine was excellent, the company interesting. All the same Hench felt that this meal was like Macbeth's banquet, and behind the revelry lurked the grim figure of Tragedy with her bowl and dagger. At any moment Banquo in the person of Madame Alpenny might appear. Of course such a supposition was nonsense, as the Hungarian lady did not know where he was. But the feeling became so real to Hench that he cast several uneasy looks behind his chair. Gwen noticed this and remarked on the same nervously.
"Why do you look over your shoulder?" she asked petulantly.
"For the Kill-joy," said Hench in a blunt way. "You know, Miss Evans, man is never permitted to be entirely happy. There is always the Kill-joy."
"Gwen will provide you with all the Kill-joy you are needing," said Mrs. Perage significantly. "Wait until we go to the drawing-room. Meantime go on scintillating, young man. Talk your heart out."
"To whom?" asked Hench audaciously.
"To me, sir. You can flirt with Gwen to-morrow; to-night old age must have its turn. Here are some very excellent cigarettes. Light up and talk."
"You remind me of the lady who asked Sydney Smith when he was going to be funny," said Hench dryly. "It is not easy to talk when so ordered. As to Miss Evans, she never flirts."
"Ah, you don't know my capabilities," retorted Gwen, with a mischievous gleam in her blue eyes. "I have many sides to my character."