“You know what I mean.”
Hal was thoughtful a moment, and then remarked with sudden glee:
“I know what I’ll do. I’ll take the Three Graces, and persuade Quin’s aunt to come as chaperone. Then we’ll all have supper with Lorraine afterwards. You shall have a nice, quiet, interesting evening with Doris, and I’ll get two stalls for you for another night.”
She moved about, gathering up her things.
“You don’t know Quin’s aunt, Lady Bounce, do you? She’s the dearest old soul, and she loves a theatre. Night-night, old boy; don’t keep Doris too long near the canal, in case you are taken with my inclination”; and she went gaily off, humming a popular air.
Dudley read through his letters without grasping any of their contents. For the first time Hal’s attitude to Doris seriously worried him, and he felt vaguely there was trouble ahead.
But when Thursday came, and they were together, she again had the same pleasing effect upon his senses, and he let himself be persuaded that if Hal grew to know her better, she could not choose but grow fond of her.
In the meantime a group in the royal box at the Greenway Theatre was causing no small interest to a crowded house.
There was Hal, with her smart, well-groomed air, gleaming white neck and arms, and her white, even teeth that looked so attractive even in the distance when she smiled.
Dick Bruce, spruce and scholarly, hugely pleased with himself, because he had an article in The National Review, on the strength of the colonies in war time; and some lines entitled “Baby’s Boredom” in Fireside Chat, concerning which he had already announced his intention of standing the champagne for their supper with the cheque.