“O, but there are compensations—theatres, concerts, dances.”
“Miss Ransome, I fear you are a Philistine.”
“O, no, no! I adore Nature. I should like to be above those common earthly pleasures—to journey from star to star along the planetary chain, rising at each transition to a higher level, until I came to the spirit world where— This is the hotel, and we are on the second floor. Would you like the lift?”
“I never walk when I can be carried.”
“Then we will go up in the lift. I used to think it rather good fun at first,” said Pamela with a sigh, remembering how soon that trivial excitement had begun to pall.
Mildred received the unexpected visitor with marked coldness; but it was not easy to remain persistently cold while Pamela was so warm. Castellani was one of those provoking people who refuse to see when they are unwelcome. He was full of talk, gay, bright, and varied. He had all the social events of the past three months to talk about. Society had witnessed the most extraordinary changes—marriages—sudden deaths—everything unlooked for. There had been scandals, too; but these he touched upon lightly, and with a deprecating air, professing himself sorry for everybody.
Mildred allowed him to talk, and was, perhaps, a little more cordial when he took his leave than she had been when he came. He had prevented her from thinking her own thoughts for the space of an hour, and that was something for which to be grateful. He had come there in pursuit of Pamela, no doubt. He could have no other reason. He had been playing his own game, holding back in order to be the more gladly accepted when he should declare himself. It was thus Mildred reasoned with herself; and yet there had been looks and tones which it was difficult for her to forget.
“He is by profession a lady-killer,” she argued; “no doubt he treats all women in the same way. He cannot help trying to fascinate them; and there are women like Cecilia Tomkison who encourage him to make sentimental speeches.”
She persuaded herself that the looks and tones which had offended meant very little. For Pamela’s sake she would like to think well of him.
“You have told me about a great many people,” she said, as he was leaving them, “but you have told me nothing about my husband. Did you hear if he was still at Enderby—and well?”