Whereat Marina sniffed the air dubiously and said nothing. 'Jewlia Muggins,' alias 'Violet de Gascon,' knew a thing or two, and was not to be taken in by Lady Brancewith or any of her set. She was keenly disappointed. Delicia had not been present to see her dance, and she had very much wished to create a favourable impression on that 'sweet thing in white' as she called her. She had danced her best, gracefully, and with an exquisite modesty; too exquisite for many of the gentlemen assembled, some of whom whispered to each other that she was 'going off' a bit, simply because they could not see much above her slender ankles. She herself, however, cared nothing for what they said or thought, and at the conclusion of her dance she boldly asked her hostess where Lady Carlyon was.
'She has gone home, I am sorry to say,' was the reply. 'She is not very well, she tells me; and she found the heat of the room rather trying.'
'Are you speaking of the guest of the evening—Lady Carlyon?' inquired Lady Brancewith, sweetly.
'Yes. She extremely regretted having to leave so early, but she works hard, you know, and she is not at all robust.'
Here Lady Dexter's attention was distracted by the claims of a long-haired violinist desirous of performing a 'classical' piece immediately, which, when it did begin, had the effect of driving many people down to supper or out of the house altogether; and in the general scrimmage on the stairs 'La Marina' found herself elbowing Lord Carlyon.
'Your wife's gone home,' she said curtly. 'Why didn't you go with her?'
'I have another engagement,' he answered coldly.
'Not with me!' she said, showing all her even white teeth in a broad grin. 'I talked ever so long to Lady Carlyon this evening, and told her just what I thought of you!'
His eyes darkened furiously, and the lines of his mouth grew hard and vindictive.
'You wild cat!' he said savagely. 'If you have dared—'