"No; I have met the Colonel. Who is the son engaged to?"
"Nobody very great. A Miss Nash, a girl with plenty of money. George inherits a nice little estate from his uncle, and he had to marry something to keep it up on. By the way, Lucy Reynolds must have mentioned him to you. She saw a good deal of him at Cannes." And Lady Munro looked somewhat anxiously at her niece.
"I rather think she did," Mona answered, pretending to stifle a yawn. "But Lucy met so many people while she was with you——"
The rise of the curtain for the second act obviated the necessity of finishing the sentence, and Lady Munro did not resume the subject.
As soon as Sir Douglas had left the box for the second time, it was entered by a stout man, with a vast expanse of shirt front, and a bunch of showy seals.
"I thought I could not be mistaken," he said with a marked Scotch accent, holding out his hand to Mona. "I have been watching you from the dress circle ever since the beginning of the play, Miss Maclean; and I thought I must just come and pay my respects."
Lady Munro looked utterly aghast, and the ease of Mona's manner rather belied her feelings, as she took his outstretched hand.
"That was very kind of you," she said simply. "Mr Cookson, my aunt, Lady Munro,—Miss Munro."
Mr Cookson gasped, and there was an awkward pause. Rachel Simpson had not taken with her, across the Atlantic, all the complications in her cousin's life.
Fortunately, at this moment two young men came in, and Mona was able to keep Mr Cookson pretty much to herself.