Neither she Vicky nor Mary mentioned the circumstance of Mr. Baker's visit to Ermyntrude when she came downstairs to tea; and although Vicky's sense of propriety would not have deterred her from giving her stepfather an account of it, the shootingparty returned to Palings too late to allow her the opportunity of seeking any private conversation with Wally.
The dinner guests began to assemble at a quarter-to eight, the Bawtrys being the first people to arrive, and the Prince coming downstairs a few minutes later.
Ermyntrude, who had been persuaded by Mary's tactful flattery to wear black, was looking a good deal less startling than usual, though rather overloaded with jewellery. She knew, for she had been told, that it was not considered good form to wear rings upon her first and second fingers, but whenever she opened her jewel-box and saw the row of fat, sparkling gems she could not resist the temptation to push as many of the rings over her dimpled knuckles as was possible. "After all," she said reasonably, "if I don't wear them, who's to know I've got them?"
So diamonds, emeralds and rubies jostled one another on her fingers; four or five expensive bangles clinked on each of her wrists; and a superb double row of pearls knocked against diamond clips, and a huge brooch, rather like a breastplate, on her bosom. A strong aroma of scent enveloped her like an ambrosial cloud; but these somewhat repelling features were in a great measure counteracted by the honesty of her smile, and the real kindliness that obviously underlay her extravagances.
She stood in awe of Mrs. Bawtry, and was very ready to let Mary bear the burden of conversation with that brisk, bright-eyed, little matron. On the other hand, Tom Bawtry, a big bluff man of no great brain, but immense good nature, was a creature quite after her own heart. He laughed readily, and had often, in the past, annoyed his wife by describing Ermyntrude as a damned fine figure of a woman. Being a hunting-man, his strictures on any irregularities of dress in the field were sweeping and severe, but as Ermyntrude had never been on a horse in her life, and Tom was quite uncritical of female garb out of the saddle, he saw nothing very much amiss either with her decolletage, or her jewellery, and was a good deal flattered by the deferential way in which she listened to anything he had to say.
"My dear, what England wants at this moment is more God-guided citizens," Connie Bawtry informed Mary energetically, as the Prince came into the room. "You've no idea what a difference it makes to you, once you become God-controlled.
Happily for Mary, Ermyntrude saved her from having to answer by introducing the Prince. Connie was not in the least interested in princes, whatever their nationality, but she saw in every new acquaintance a potential convert, and at once abandoned Mary for this fresh victim.
She was still telling him how Europe's troubles could be solved (without, apparently, any more human effort than was entailed by the subjugating of self to Divine Control), when the Derings were announced.
Lady Dering shook hands with her hostess in the friendly fashion that always soothed Ermyntrude's unhappy sense of inferiority, and passed on to Wally, who was still brooding over the morning's mishap. As she had heard all about it from Hugh, she at once congratulated him on his escape from death, and listened with assuaging sympathy to his own rambling account of the affair.
Sir William, who wore the parboiled look of a gentleman dragged out to dinner against his will, frightened Ermyntrude with the punctiliousness of his manners; and Hugh gravitated to where Mary was standing, and at once demanded to be told why the notorious Miss Fanshawe was not present.