Every one of the sixteen persons at the Captain’s table looked flushed and excited, Mrs. Curtis at the farther end was in tears, and an English banker, Sir George Paxton, who had lately been in Washington on public business, appeared in danger of apoplexy.
“What is the trouble, Captain?” Barbara whispered, as soon as she had half a chance. She was a special favorite of Captain Miller’s and they had claimed cousinship at once on account of their Irish ancestry.
“Bombs!” the Captain murmured, “not real ones; worse kind, conversational bombs. That Curtis fellow started the question of whether the United States had the right to furnish ammunition to the Allies. Then Lady Dorian began some kind of peace talk, to which the Englishman objected. Can’t tell you exactly what it was all about, as I had to try to quiet things down. They may start to blowing up my ship next; this war talk makes sane people turn suddenly crazy.”
A movement made Barbara glance across the table. Although dinner was only beginning, Lady Dorian had risen and was leaving.
No wonder the girls admired her appearance. Barbara swallowed a little sigh of envy. Never, no never, could she hope to go trailing down a long room with all eyes turned upon her, looking so beautiful and cold and distinguished. This was one of the many trials of being small and darting about so quickly and having short hair and big blue eyes like a baby’s. One’s hair could grow, but, alas, not one’s self, after a certain age!
Lady Dorian was probably about five feet seven, which is presumably the ideal height for a woman, since it is the height of the Venus de Milo. She had gray eyes with black brows and lashes and dark hair that was turning gray. This was perfectly arranged, parted at the side and in a low coil. Tonight she had on a gown of black satin and chiffon. Though she wore no jewels there was no other woman present with such an air of wealth and distinction.
The instant she had disappeared, however, Mrs. Curtis turned to her son, speaking in a voice sufficiently loud to be heard by every one at the Captain’s table.
“I don’t believe for a moment that woman’s name is ‘Lady Dorian.’ She is most certainly not an English woman. Even if she is married to an Englishman she is undoubtedly pro-German in her sentiments. I shouldn’t be surprised if she is—well, most anything.”
Brooks Curtis flushed, vainly attempting to silence his mother. Evidently she was one of the irrepressible people who would not be silenced. The Red Cross girls need not have been flattered or annoyed by her attentions. She appeared one of the light-minded women who go about talking to everybody, apparently confiding their own secrets and desiring other confidences in exchange. She seemed to be harmless though trying.
But the Captain’s great voice boomed down the length of the table.