Miss Arbuthnot was everywhere, and Mr Pelham shadowed her. Opinions were freely bandied as to the existence or non-existence of an engagement, the majority inclining to the belief that one existed. Fenwick, on the other hand, was seldom seen near her, Mrs Leslie began to recover her equanimity, and perhaps only Claudia was aware that when he was in the same room with Helen his eyes followed her, or that he was more than usually silent and self-occupied. She was invariably well dressed, in a manner which set off her large figure; people turned to look at her as she passed, and she seemed to fling into insignificance such slim beauties as Claudia. Whether from chance or intention, the two seldom said much to each other, but it happened that one grey afternoon at the club-house, they found themselves near each other watching a game of bicycle polo.
Miss Arbuthnot deliberately walked up to Claudia.
“Detesting games! I am bored to death,” she said, “and so—I imagine—are you. Don’t you think we should suffer less if we escaped beyond the sounds of croquet and lawn-tennis, and everything except the clack of our own voices?”
Claudia hesitated, and Helen added—
“You had better come. I assure you there are times when I can be intelligent, and Captain Fenwick will not be here just yet.”
The girl walked quickly on as if she had been stung.
“What has that to do with it?” she said recklessly.
Miss Arbuthnot was engaged in disentangling a bramble which had caught in her dress. When she looked up she said coolly—
“A good deal to me. You know—or do you not know?—that I have always liked him.”
Amazement struck Claudia almost speechless. She stammered with her sudden rush of anger.