“‘Evening, Maud,” she said in a loud, good-natured voice, which might have been delicate and high-bred if fashion had not demanded other characteristics. “Hullo, Mr. Romayne! Like my frock, Maud?”
Miss Pomeroy murmured something gracefully inaudible, and Mrs. Romayne said, with a smile:
“Most original, Lady Claudia.”
A restless gleam had come into Mrs. Romayne’s eyes at the momentary pause, but there was a certain satisfaction, too, in her smile as the two girls stood face to face. Maud Pomeroy certainly never appeared to greater advantage than in contrast with a pronounced type of the modern society girl. The juxtaposition seemed to bring into strong relief everything about her appearance and demeanour which was dainty, gentle, and sweet, and to throw into shade all her more negative charm. Her voice, now, perfectly modulated and absolutely even, made the other girl seem “quite too vulgar,” as Mrs. Romayne said to herself. She echoed Mrs. Romayne’s words, and added:
“How came you to think of it?”
“I thought it would score,” returned the other, with a laugh. “I can’t stand these people, don’t you know! I thought of getting a whole lot of us to do it; it would have been no end of a joke! Then I thought that I’d keep it to myself. Ta-ta!”
And with a rough, ungraceful gesture of farewell she passed on.
“Lady Claudia’s hostess would strangle her, cheerfully, with her own hands,” remarked Loring placidly.
Mrs. Romayne laughed.
“So would a great many other people,” she said. “But come, you two be off and see these gardens.”