“You may call the lady a harmony in red,” said the gentleman.
Harrington scowled upon these prattlers, and then crossed the room to greet his love. Yes, it was a daring combination, the scarlet gown with the ruddy tints in her auburn hair; but the audacity was justified by success. She looked a magnificent creature, dazzling as Vashti in her Eastern splendour, invincible as Delilah. Who could resist her?
She gave her hand to Harrington, and seemed pleased to see him, but in the next moment he saw her looking beyond him towards the end of the room. He turned, involuntarily following the direction of her eyes, and saw the man who had talked to him, and who was now evidently watching them. He was a middle-aged man, handsome, tall, and upstanding, and with an air which Harrington considered decidedly patrician.
“Who is that man by the piano?” he asked.
“Major Swanwick, Lord Beaulieu’s younger brother.”
“Ah, I thought he was a swell,” said Harrington, innocently. “He was very civil to me just now. You might have been in the drawing-room a little earlier, Juliet. You must have known that I was longing to see you.”
“My dear boy, we were playing skittle-pool till five minutes to eight. I had no idea you were in the house. Ah, here comes Lady B.”
A fat, fair, flaxen-haired lady in a sky-blue tea-gown embroidered with silver palm-leaves came rolling into the room, murmuring apologies for having kept people waiting for their dinner.
“I know you must all be delightfully ravenous,” she said; “and that’s ever so much better than feeling that dinner has come too soon after lunch.”
Juliet introduced her friend, who was most graciously received.