Then, as she told herself that her own and Konrad's happiness depended on her conduct now and during the next hour or two, she felt the old paralysing nervousness which had not troubled her much of late years come over her. When suffering from these attacks she became as wooden as a doll, and could do nothing but smile inanely, and hardly knew how to pronounce her own name.
The old uncle, too, seemed frozen into silence at the first sight of her. He scanned her from head to foot, and from foot to head, and nearly forgot to invite her into the private room.
This room, with its gold Japanese wall-paper, its carnation silk hangings, its blue Persian rugs, and high-backed sofa, was as familiar to her as everything else in the place. Many a festive midnight hour had she caroused away here with Richard and his chance acquaintances at the time when it was still his ambition to hobnob with the crême de la crême of fast society.
An immaculately shaved waiter took her brocaded evening coat and lace scarf, and measured her as he did so with an eye that seemed to say, "Surely I must have seen you before?"
That was an agonising moment.
The old uncle, who had never ceased to regard her stealthily with awed but grim glances, pulled himself together and said:
"Well, now we are going to have a jolly time together, children ... cosy and friendly--eh? Jolly cosy."
Lilly bowed.
Her bow was a stiff enough inclination of the head, apparently, to increase the bandy-legged old gentleman's reverent esteem for her. He seemed puzzled and ill at ease, trampled restlessly about the room, toyed with the gold charms that dangled from his watch-chain, and nodded two or three times at Konrad in solemn appreciation.
Then they seated themselves at the gleaming white table, which was a mass of glittering cut-glass and flowers. Round the bronze lamp, with its claws and dainty iris stem--Lilly remembered it well--hung a festoon of lilac orchids, which must have cost an immense sum. Evidently this slovenly old rascal understood the art of good living.