"Sylvia Tarrant."
Joan nodded. "I know now," she said. "You live near Gainford."
The Tarrants were new-comers. Sylvia's father was a retired sailor and a widower, and had but lately settled in the district, which would account for his daughter's want of acquaintance.
"Yes," said Sylvia. "But really, I could not take your partners. They'd be furious at getting me instead of you."
Miss Gaymer turned and scrutinised the face and figure beside her.
"All you want, my child," she said, "is a start. After to-night you'll never be left alone for two seconds at any ball you care to go to. In fact, I don't see how I shall ever be able to get any partners at all," she added plaintively.
At this idea the girl laughed and looked happier, which was just exactly what Joan meant her to do. Her spirit was returning.
Joan rose briskly.
"Now, Sylvia," she said, "I'm going to leave you for two minutes, because I want to find a man to send round and tell all my partners that you've agreed to take them on. Then I'll come back and get you started. Just put yourself straight. There's a loose end of hair here: I'll roll it up. There! Your eyes are getting better every minute. Give your skirt a shake out, and have a look at yourself in that mirror, and you'll be simply perfect. So long!"
"There's somebody coming," said Sylvia, turning from her toilet and looking over her shoulder.