When they at last arrived in the busy little market town they decided that it would probably be quicker for each of them to go about her own affairs, and then all to meet in an hour's time at a certain tea-shop in the High Street, where they would have some hot chocolate and sandwiches to keep them going until they got home again.
"P'r'aps Pamela will have joined us by then," said Beryl hopefully.
Inchmoor was a bustling, cheerful little place, with very broad streets, plenty of shops, a town hall, and a picture palace.
Beryl quickly discovered a music shop, and here she spent an enjoyable half-hour turning over a pile of new and second-hand music, and picking out several pieces that she had long wanted to buy. When she at length tore herself reluctantly away from the music-seller's, it occurred to her that perhaps she might buy a new and warmer blouse if she could see one in a draper's window; but she was not used to buying clothes for herself and rather dreaded the ordeal of entering a big drapery establishment when she was not sure what kind of material she preferred, nor how much she ought to pay for it. She passed and re-passed one draper's shop, but catching sight of the Wellington-nosed shop-walker, and a fashionably dressed lady assistant, eyeing her through the glass door, her courage failed her and she passed on down the street to another draper's. Here the exasperated tones of a girl serving at the blouse counter came to Beryl's ears, and she hesitated, lingered for a few moments looking in the window, and then decided not to bother about a blouse to-day—there was not much time left before she would have to meet the others at the tea-shop. She looked about for a clock, and spying one, found that there was no time left at all, and, inwardly relieved, she walked briskly away down the street.
In the meantime Isobel had found Madame Clarence's Dancing Academy, and was now occupied in interviewing no less a personage than Madame Clarence herself.
The Academy was in a side-street, and was a tall, flat-fronted old house with a basement and an area; it did not look as if it belonged to Inchmoor at all, being quite unlike the other houses in its neighbourhood, which were frankly cottages, or really old-fashioned country residences. The Academy was an alien; it looked so obviously the sort of house that is seen in dozens on the outskirts of London. It gave one the feeling that at some time or other it really must have been a town house, and that one night it must have stolen away from the London streets and come down here for a breath of the fresh country air. And once having reached Inchmoor it had stayed on, lengthening its holiday indefinitely, until every one had forgotten that it was only to have been a holiday, and had accepted the Academy as a permanent resident.
Madame Clarence, who received Isobel in a drawing-room which seemed to be mostly blue plush, long lace curtains, and ferns, was a small, bright-eyed woman, dressed in a black and white striped dress. Madame walked in a springy, dancing manner, and when she was not talking she was humming softly to herself. She wore a number of rings on her short white fingers—fingers which were never for a moment still, but were either playing an imaginary piano on Madame's knee, drumming on the table, toying with the large yellow beads round Madame's neck, or doing appropriate actions to illustrate the words Madame said. Madame had grey hair, though her skin was soft and unwrinkled, except for a certain bagginess under the eyes.
To all appearances Madame must have been inside the house when it came down from London, for she gave an impression of being town-bred, and, judging by her conversation, of having conferred a favour on Inchmoor by consenting to reside in so unimportant a spot. She said she would be charmed to have Miss Prior as a pupil, and ran over, for Isobel's benefit, a long list of names of Society people to whom she claimed to have given dancing lessons. Isobel was duly impressed and inquired her fees. After ascertaining what kind of dancing Isobel wished to be instructed in, Madame said the fee would be three guineas a term; and as Miss Prior had come when the term was already well advanced, Madame said she would give her extra private lessons until she caught up with the rest of the class. This seemed so generous of Madame that Isobel closed with the offer at once, although the appearance of the Academy was not quite what she had expected; but still, Isobel reminded herself, Inchmoor was only a little country town, and it was a marvellous and fortunate thing to find anyone so exclusive as Madame in such a backwater. And Isobel wondered how the little dancing-mistress had drifted here.
Isobel's thoughts were interrupted by Madame rising and offering personally to conduct her over the dancing-hall, which she proceeded to do, humming as she led the way into a large room with polished floor, seats round the walls, and a baby-grand piano; around the piano were clustered bamboo fern-stands and pedestals, which supported large ferns growing in pots.
"This floor is a perfect dweam to dance on," Madame informed Isobel. "I'm sure you will enjoy it."