The three ladies now had the carriage to themselves. As soon as the train had moved out of the station, Lady Elfreda discarded The Queen and said, “What have you brought for luncheon, Pikey?”
The Society Pictorial was laid aside while Pikey came resolutely to grips with an interesting looking case which had been placed on a vacant seat. In the meantime the blessed word “luncheon” had brought a pang to the heart of Miss Cass. On leaving her home that morning it had been her intention to procure some food en route. Alas, the difficulties of metropolitan travel, the irregularity of ’bus and train culminating in a bear fight at Belgravia, had driven all minor matters out of a head that was not very strong in practical affairs. Therefore it was now the part of Miss Gray Eyes to regard wistfully, from behind her book, the disclosure of the contents of the luncheon basket. Certainly it was quite in the tradition of a marquis’ daughter. There was a place for everything and everything was in its place: delicious looking sandwiches in neat tins, a cake which for war time could only be described as royal, and crowning glory and wonder, a large bottle of wine most artfully packed with glasses and corkscrew complete.
Lady Elfreda shed one neat glove with a very businesslike air and offered the contents of the tins. “Those are egg, Pikey—and these are ham, I think.”
The choice of Pikey was ham. The younger lady inserted a very level row of teeth into the other kind. “Considerin’,” she remarked with obvious satisfaction, “that these left Ireland at midnight they have stood the journey pretty well.”
But the Werewolf was too busy to attempt any form of conversation.
Behind The Patrician, now rigidly fixed as a barrier, the mouth of Miss Cass was watering. Within her was the emotion of sinking which marks the sense of zero. It was a terribly long journey to Clavering St. Mary’s. The train was not due in until after four. If only she had provided herself with a piece of chocolate! At the next stopping place, perhaps, she might be able to get something, but it was by no means a certainty, having regard to the length of the train and the present time of famine.
Suddenly Miss Cass was driven clean out of her dismal reflections. A voice of irresistible charm was addressing her. “Won’t you have one of these?” Both tins were offered. “Ham—and those are egg.”
Miss Cash blushed and hesitated. There was not the slightest need to do either, but it was her nature to blush and to hesitate, and there is no appeal from nature. A pair of eyes, very blue, very clear and only very slightly ironical looked straight into hers. “Do.” The voice was extraordinarily kind. “Please!—won’t you?”
It would have called for a heart of stone to resist such an appeal. Besides, there was no need to resist it.
“Oh, thank you ever so much.” A small piece of paper was laid reverently upon The Patrician and a delicious looking egg sandwich was laid with similar reverence upon it. Then a white woolen glove was carefully removed.