“By gad!” growled Wragg, “I’m inclined to differ from you there, Miss Jaques. When Bower turned up last week they met as very old friends, I can assure you.”
“Obviously a prearranged affair,” said Mrs. Vavasour.
“None of us has had a look in since,” grinned Georgie vacuously. “Even Reggie de la Vere, who is a deuce of a fellah with the girls, could not get within yards of her.”
This remark found scant favor with his audience. Miss Beryl Wragg, who had affected de la Vere’s company for want of an eligible bachelor, pursed her lips scornfully.
“I can hardly agree with that,” she said. “Edith de la Vere may be a sport; but she doesn’t exactly fling her husband at another woman’s head. Anyhow, it was amazing bad form on her part to include Miss Wynton in her dinner party last night.”
Millicent’s blue eyes snapped. “Did Helen Wynton dine in public yesterday evening?” she demanded.
“Rather! Quite a lively crowd they were too.”
“Indeed. Who were the others?”
“Oh, the Badminton-Smythes, and the Bower man, and that American—what’s his name?”
Then Millicent laughed shrilly. She saw her chance of delivering a deadly stroke, and took it without mercy. “The American? Spencer? What a delightful mixture! Why, he is the very man who is paying Miss Wynton’s expenses.”