The mother and son were separated after that, and about half an hour later Mrs. Romayne caught sight of Julian disappearing with a very pretty girl, whose face she did not know, in the direction of the supper-room, just as she herself was greeted by Lord Garstin and pressed to repair thither.
“Thanks, no,” she said lightly. “There is such a crowd, and I really don’t want anything.”
She paused. That accentuated vivacity was still about her, as she looked up at Lord Garstin with a little smile and a gesture which he thought unusually charming.
“I want a little chat with you, though, very much,” she said with pretty confidence. “I’m going to ask you to give me some advice, do you know. Will it bore you frightfully?”
“On the contrary, it will delight me,” was the ready and by no means insincere response.
Mrs. Romayne made a gracious and grateful movement of her head.
“I would rather take your opinion than that of any other man I know,” she said confidentially. She stopped and laughed slightly. “It’s about my boy, of course!” she said. “I want to know what you think of a club for a young man in his position? Do you think, now, that it is a good thing?”
“Emphatically, yes,” returned Lord Garstin. “I consider a good club of the first importance to a young man. Your young man ought to be a member of the Prince’s.” He paused a moment, looking at her as she nodded her head softly, waiting as though for further words of wisdom from him, and thought what a delightful little woman she was. “Suppose I talk to him about it?” he said pleasantly. “I will see to it with pleasure if you would like it.”
Nothing, certainly, could have been more delightful than Mrs. Romayne’s manner, as she spoke just the right words of graceful acknowledgement and acceptance. Then she made a gaily disparaging comment on club life, and Lord Garstin’s advocacy of it, and a few minutes’ bantering, laughing repartee followed—that society repartee of which Mrs. Romayne was a mistress. From thence she drifted into talk about the party, and a complaint of the heat of the room.
“It is time we were going, I think!” she remarked, with a gay little laugh. “But a mother is a miserable slave, you see! I am ‘left until called for,’ I suppose!”