Blessington looked at her, then smiled again, his buoyancy restored. “Doing?” he said. “Oh, calling every other afternoon at Grosvenor Square—only to find that a certain lady is never at home.”
At his tone Eve laughed again. The boy, with his frank and ingenuous nature, had beguiled many a dull hour for her in past days, and she had missed him not a little when his place had been filled by Greening.
“But I mean seriously, Bobby. Has something good turned up?”
Blessington made a wry face “Something is on its way—that's why I am on duty to-right. Old Bramfell and the pater are working it between them. So if Lady Bramfell or Lady Astrupp happen to drop a fan or a handkerchief this evening, I've got to be here to pick it up. See?”
“As you picked up my fans and handkerchiefs last year—and the year before?” Eve smiled.
Blessington's face suddenly looked grave. “I wish you hadn't said that,” he said. Then he paused abruptly. Out of the hum of talk behind them a man's laugh sounded. It was not loud, but it was a laugh that one seldom hears in a London drawing-room—it expressed interest, amusement, and in an inexplicable may it seemed also to express strength.
Eve and Blessington both turned involuntarily.
“By Jove!” said Blessington
Eve said nothing.
Loder was parting with Lakely, and his was the laugh that had attracted them both. The interest excited by his talk was still reflected in his face and bearing as he made his way towards them.