“Some money to buy bread,” she uttered, thickly, but with appealing sweetness.
“Bread!” and he snorted like a righteously indignant war-horse.
“I am a poor orphan,” continued Nina, “and I have six little brothers and four little sisters in bed for want of clothes. Can’t you give me something?”
“Be off!” and he contemptuously turned to his plate.
“Please come with me, good sir,” she murmured, in her plaintive beggar’s whine, and she stretched out a pleading hand.
At the same time there was apparent in her manner, even under the linen shroudings, a sauciness and assurance that claimed further attention from the master of ceremonies.
He threw up his head at this imp-like creature who was teasing him, and gave a backward nod toward the watchful Merdyce. There was a visible tendency on the part of his officers to laugh. It was time the place was cleared.
Merdyce thought that his hand was just about to alight on the stranger’s shoulder; but he was mistaken, for she had slipped aside, and was shaking a jingling wrist toward his master. There was nothing on it but a bangle, a brass one, probably; but it was evidently some token, for the man at the table recognised it at once, and, without a glance at the ridiculously bewildered faces of his fellows, sprang to his feet, and, throwing an arm around her, swept her from the room.
Merdyce stood with his mouth open, and as the door swung together Nina heard the first murmur of a sound that she knew would develop into an immoderate burst of laughter, rivalling, if not eclipsing their former effort in that line.
“Don’t mind them, darling, they have not an idea who you are,” whispered her husband, joyously, in her ear.