A young woman, dressed with the touching pride of the connoisseur on a small income, turned as Mrs. Manley spoke, and smiled at her.
“How are you?” Mrs. Manley said. “I am showing Mrs. Fulton the lions. If you want tea we could fill a table. Mrs. Fulton, may I introduce you to Mrs. Vachell. You are sure to meet everywhere. General and Mrs. Fulton have just moved into the Babley’s house,” she explained to the other.
“Yes, I know,” said Mrs. Vachell. “I was going to call on you this week (she turned to Susie). Mrs. Babley left me several messages for you about the house, small things that she thought might be useful, but she didn’t want to bother you by writing about them. I only came back from Egypt yesterday.”
“Mrs. Vachell’s husband,” Mrs. Manley explained, “is the most distinguished something-or-other-ist of the century, only I never can pronounce it.”
“Never mind,” said Mrs. Vachell. “We’ll leave it at that. What a squash there is to-day. Do you suppose we shall ever get any tea?” They moved slowly on, and Mrs. Vachell found herself separated with the two girls.
“You must find it rather dreary being turned loose in a strange town,” she said almost pityingly. “Has anyone been any use?”
“We’re quite happy,” said Evangeline. “Do tell me why so many people come here. Is a Town Hall a sort of public party place? Oh dear, what a row that band makes!”
“If we can get to the tea room we shall be out of it,” said Mrs. Vachell. “No, this isn’t exactly a public party, but the Lord Mayor has to entertain everybody. You will find later that you meet your friends here, and it isn’t so bad. But you will probably be roped in to make yourselves useful before long.”
Teresa thrilled once more with the breath of the thing she sought. “How?” she asked.
“All sorts of ways. Child welfare or domestic training or inebriates—or perhaps imbeciles,” Mrs. Vachell added, mischievously putting on an extra screw as she noted the alarm in Evangeline’s face and the throb of excitement in Teresa’s.