“And is he going to give ’em to Claire?”
“Don’t know. Wait.”
“Lady Drelincourt, Sir Matthew Bray, Colonel Lascelles,” announced Isaac; and, before the small talk was half over, he shouted again: “Sir Harry Payne, Major Rockley, Mr Morton Denville.”
Richard Linnell told himself that he was no spy, but he could not keep his eyes from the group, as the officers entered, and were received by Claire.
It was a crucial meeting, but she bore it well, bowing rather stiffly to Major Rockley as he advanced in a deprecating way; and he was evidently about to stay by her side, but Isaac announced:
“Mrs and Miss Dean.”
There was a little buzz of excitement.
“Mrs Pontardent.”
This lady meant to be before her protégées; but she was in time after all, and after a quiet, unaffected welcome from Claire, they formed a little group by themselves, about whom, like flies attracted by bright colours, the officers buzzed.
Mrs Pontardent was a tall, good-looking, lady-like woman, who patronised the Master of the Ceremonies when they spoke, and complimented him upon the appearance of “his little girl.”