VIII
Noel felt light-hearted too, as if she had won a victory. She found some potted meat, spread it on another biscuit, ate it greedily, and finished the pint bottle of champagne. Then she hunted for the cigarettes, and sat down at the piano. She played old tunes—“There is a Tavern in the Town,” “Once I Loved a Maiden Fair,” “Mowing the Barley,” “Clementine,” “Lowlands,” and sang to them such words as she remembered. There was a delicious running in her veins, and once she got up and danced. She was kneeling at the window, looking out, when she heard the door open, and without getting up, cried out:
“Isn't it a gorgeous night! I've had Daddy here. I gave him some of your champagne, and drank the rest—” then was conscious of a figure far too tall for Leila, and a man's voice saying:
“I'm awfully sorry. It's only I, Jimmy Fort.”
Noel scrambled up. “Leila isn't in; but she will be directly—it's past ten.”
He was standing stock-still in the middle of the room.
“Won't you sit down? Oh! and won't you have a cigarette?”
“Thanks.”
By the flash of his briquette she saw his face clearly; the look on it filled her with a sort of malicious glee.