"Pshaw!" she exclaimed softly. "My eyes must be changing either in color or in sight. I thought I had matched them perfectly. Perhaps it is the light."
But turn her graceful head as she would, the eyes still looked darker than the dress. She gave a little sigh and dismissed the frown. Then she turned from the mirror, and dropped into a soft nest of cushions in a cozy window seat.
As the bell announced an arrival, Mrs. Lambert slowly arose while the maid opened the door.
"May I speak with Mrs. Lambert, please?" asked a soft, gentle voice, and Mrs. Lambert caught a glimpse of Miss Esterbrook, as she entered the foyer and turned toward the reception room.
The hostess immediately came forward, graciously extending her hand in welcome.
"I'm so glad to see you have come early. It will indeed be a pleasure to visit a little while before the game starts," she said.
At a glance she took in the general pleasing effect of the tall slim figure, and graceful poise of the head, massed with an abundance of golden hair. Her face of the Madonna type, was rather too pale in its fairness, but deep violet eyes lent color and its sweet expressiveness was attractive.
"I don't know how to tell you why I have come so early," she returned in a natural, musical voice, quite exceptional in these days of high staccato and affected tremolos. "Indeed, when you planned this reception for me, I ought to have guessed you would entertain with 'Bridge.' But you didn't mention it to me, and thoughtlessly I did not ask. Afterwards, mother received cards, but she mislaid them. She did not mention the game until today. Can you forgive me when I tell you that I do not play 'Bridge?'"
"You do not play 'Bridge?'" asked Mrs. Lambert incredulously. For a moment she searched her guest's face in silent astonishment, her cheeks flushing hotly with the thought of the social defeat this afternoon would bring.
The violet eyes never wavered but smiled kindly as they noticed her hostess' evident embarrassment.