She was stepping from the door of a jeweller's, and as he turned she paused, holding out her hand.
“The very person I would have wished to see!” she exclaimed. “Where have you been these hundred years? I've heard of nobody but you since you've turned politician and ceased to be a mere member of Parliament!” She laughed softly. The laugh suited the light spring air, as she herself suited the pleasant, superficial scene.
He took her hand and held it, while his eyes travelled from her delicate face to her pale cloth gown, from her soft furs to the bunch of roses fastened in her muff, The sight of her was a curious relief. Her cool, slim fingers were so casual, yet so clinging, her voice and her presence were so redolent of easy, artificial things.
“How well you look!” he said, involuntarily.
Again she laughed. “That's my prerogative,” she responded, lightly. “But I was serious in being glad to see you. Sarcastic people are always so intuitive. I'm looking for some one with intuition.”
Chilcote glanced up. “Extravagant again?” he said, dryly.
She smiled at him sweetly. “Jack!” she murmured with slow reproach.
Chilcote laughed quickly. “I understand. You've changed your Minister of Finance. I'm wanted in some other direction.”
This time her reproach was expressed by a glance. “You are always wanted,” she said.
The words seemed to rouse him again to the shadowy self-distrust that the sight of her had lifted.