“Certainly not. It must be in play-time.” She turned, for Mrs Hilton was speaking again.
“Will half-past three suit you, my dear? Ruth, I know,”—nodding at Miss Baynes—“will see that Mr Hilton has all he wants, and Harry—Harry, won’t it be a good plan for us to call at the station for Helen? Yes, I thought so; we will do that, and come home in good time for tea.”
Miss Baynes asked whether Miss Arbuthnot was expected.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? So like me! Yes, she is coming for a week or two—for as long as she likes to stay,” she added hospitably. “Helen almost belongs to the house, so that she will be able to help Harry.”
“To help Harry?” repeated Claudia in an undertone.
“To amuse you,” chuckled Fenwick. “Oh!” There was profound scorn in the “Oh!”
“It’s a little the case of toujours perdrix, isn’t it?” he went on. “But Harry’s the best fellow in the world.”
“You, too!” She thought impatiently of Elmslie. “Do let us take his virtues for granted by way of a change, and tell me about Miss Arbuthnot. Who is she? And what is she like?” A new girl was a far more interesting subject to her than any mere man; the girls at the college, and the lines they took or might be expected to take, had been fertile objects of speculation for their fellow-students.
“She,” said Fenwick, slowly, “is a daughter of Lord Ambleton. What is she like?” He hesitated. “How am I to answer?”
Claudia opened her eyes.