Cornelia’s “No!” made the listener start in her seat, so loud was it, so stern, so eloquent of displeasure. She herself was astonished at the white heat of anger which possessed her as she listened to Mrs Moffatt’s questionings. “Picked him up,” indeed! What insolence; what vulgarity! What an indignity to speak of him in such words. Her indignation seemed almost as much on Guest’s account as her own. A vision of his face rose before her, she seemed to see the curl of the lip, the droop of the eyelid with which he would have greeted such an expression.
“No! Suttenly not! He is the merest acquaintance. There is not even an ordinary friendship between us. I may very probably never meet him again.”
“Is that so?” queried Mrs Moffatt, calmly. As the Captain had himself announced his intention of calling at the hotel, the only effect of Cornelia’s violence was to deepen the impression that there was “something in it,” but she was too diplomatic to pursue the subject. Instead, she prattled on about a dozen inconsequent topics, and finally suggested a drive in the Park before dinner.
“It will freshen you up after your journey, and there’s nothing else to do for the next two hours. Just ring, will you, dear, and make arrangements, while I write a few notes in my room. A victoria, or a motor, whichever you prefer, and in about half-an-hour. That will give us time to prink.” She rustled out of the room, and Cornelia rang and gave the order, only too thankful to avoid a prolonged tête-à-tête indoors. Once again she wondered how it had come to pass that she had become on intimate terms with this woman, who now jarred upon her at every turn. On board the steamer her own friends had scarcely left their state-rooms during the voyage, and Mrs Moffatt, in a neat tweed costume, and an enveloping blue veil, had played the part of ministering angel with much devotion, during three dreary days, when she herself had lain on a chair in a sheltered corner of the deck; had read aloud, repeated amusing little anecdotes about the passengers, taken her for constitutionals up and down, and even helped her to bed at night. When Liverpool was reached, it seemed as if they had known one another for years. They had kissed at parting, and mutually agreed to meet, and have a good time.
“Shucks!” cried Cornelia, mentally. “It’s that old Norton! I’ve gotten so used to dowds, that the sight of a Paris gown scares me all into fits. I’ve looked forward to coming to London all my life, and now I’m here, I’m going to enjoy myself all I know. Now then, for the Park! I guess that grey crêpe, and the hat with the white feathers, will be about the best I can do for the honour of the flag. You’ve got to strike a balance, my dear, and plump for neutral colours as long as you run in harness with Mrs Silas P Moffatt!”
That first drive in Hyde Park was a pleasant experience, though the trees looked grey and dusty, after the fresh green of the country. Cornelia, like most of her sisters, had, as a first object, to see the people, not the Park itself, and certainly they were worth the seeing. There is no place in the world where finer specimens of humanity can be seen than in Hyde Park on the afternoon of a bright June day. Cornelia admired the tall, immaculately-groomed men, the dainty, high-bred looking women, with their air of indolent grace. They did not look as if they were enjoying themselves particularly, but she enjoyed, looking at them, and honestly acknowledged the presence of a certain quality unowned by herself. “They’ve got a far-off look, as if they couldn’t see anything nearer than a hundred miles, and were scared to laugh, in case they might break! ... I guess it’s what they call ‘breed!’ Captain Guest’s got it, too. We’ve not much use for that kind of thing at home, but it—counts! If you’d been used to it all your life, it would be a jar to step down...”
Mrs Moffatt knew a great many people by sight, and pointed them out as they drove by. Lady this, the Countess of that, Mrs Blank, who wrote society novels, and was noted for her taste in dress, the beautiful Miss Dash.—“Not that I can see much beauty in her myself. She’s not a patch on you, when you’re in form!” Cornelia felt a girl’s natural pleasure in the compliment, in the truth of which she complacently agreed. She did not envy Miss Dash her looks, but she did emphatically envy her her friends, particularly her male friends, who clustered around her carriage, eager for a word. One felt decidedly out of it, driving through a crowd of strangers, not one of whom turned a welcoming smile in your direction, nor cared whether you came or went. At home, Cornelia was accustomed to be in the midst of all that was going on, a central figure, round which all the rest revolved. She did not at all appreciate being relegated to the position of regarding the fray from the vantage of a hired vehicle!
Cornelia craned her head to right and to left, scanning the passing crowd for a familiar face. It seemed impossible that among hundreds of people there should not be someone whom she recognised, and her faith was justified, for just at the bend near the Marble Arch, she had a passing glimpse of Guest’s tall figure, standing talking to two ladies, one middle-aged, the other young, and graceful, and smiling. They were quietly, even simply, attired, but their whole air and carriage breathed that indefinable something which she had just struggled to define: something diametrically different from the ostentatious display of the woman by her side. Theoretically, Cornelia was thankful to escape observation; in reality she felt an absurd pang of loneliness and disappointment, as the carriage bore her out of sight.
The evening was spent at a theatre, and by eleven o’clock next morning both ladies had started forth on one of the shopping expeditions, which seemed to constitute Mrs Moffatt’s chief pleasure in life. They drove first of all to the jeweller’s, where Cornelia was shown the emerald necklace, a wonderful collection of stones, in an antique setting, with which she herself promptly fell in love. The price was excessive, even for her own deep purse, and she concluded that Mr Moffatt’s means must be even larger than she had imagined, since his wife seriously contemplated such a purchase. There was a good deal of bargaining, half-serious, half-joking, between Mrs Moffatt and the very imposing-looking personage behind the counter, but fortified by the advent of another possible purchaser, the latter steadily refused to reduce his price, and once again Mrs Moffatt retired discomfited from the struggle.
“I know just how it will be,” she cried, “I’ll have to give it up, and then you’ll step in, and carry it off before my eyes! But you’ve got to wait a bit, till I see what I can do with Silas. I’m not going to give up yet awhile.”