Cornelia herself was tempted to buy a number of articles which she neither needed nor knew exactly how to use, partly from want of something to do while her companion was occupied, and partly from a sense of shame, at giving so much trouble for nothing. Every day, also, boxes of fineries were sent “on approval,” to the hotel, so that one seemed to live in a constant atmosphere of milliner’s shop. Cornelia wondered to what purpose was this everlasting dressing up. The dejected Silas could hardly count as an audience, since he was the most indifferent of husbands, and it seemed a poor reward for so much trouble to receive the passing glances of strangers.
“I hope when I settle down, I’ll have some real interest in life. I’ll take care that I have, too! I’d go crazed if there was nothing more to it than hanging round stores all the time,” said Cornelia to herself, as she bade farewell to her friends after lunch, and settled herself with a book in the corner of the lounge, to await Guest’s arrival. She was pleased at the prospect of meeting him again; mischievously amused at the anticipation of his embarrassment when he found that her chaperons had fled. It would be a delightful change to chat with him for half an hour, and when he departed to listen to the “pretty good music,” she herself would get into a hansom and drive to Saint Paul’s to listen to the wonderful boys’ voices chanting the evening service. Cathedrals were not included in the London known to Mrs Silas P Moffatt, but Cornelia was determined not to leave the metropolis without visiting the great temple of the East. After four days of pure, undiluted Moffatt, she felt mentally and spiritually starved. It would be good to leave the world and sit apart awhile beneath the great dome...
At five minutes past three by the clock, Guest appeared in the doorway of the hotel, made an inquiry of the porter, and was directed to Cornelia’s sheltered seat. She saw him cast a glance over her neat, walking costume, as he approached, and naughtily determined to prolong his uncertainty. On her own side, she honestly admired his appearance; compared him to his advantage with the other men in the hall, and was proud to welcome him as her friend. Her little, white face was sparkling with animation, as she held out her hand to greet him.
“How d’you do, Captain Guest? It’s real good of you to come again so soon. I was sorry to miss you Saturday afternoon.”
“So was I.” Guest seated himself, and deposited his hat carefully by his side. “I waited half an hour, and then gave it up, and went to loaf in the Park. It’s the only thing to do before dinner.”
“I saw you there, standing on the sidewalk talking to two ladies, an old one, and a young one, as pretty as—”
“A moss rose!” he suggested quickly, and they laughed together over the remembrance. “Were you driving? I wish I had seen you! Is—er—Mrs Moffatt quite well?”
“Puffectly, thank you,” said Cornelia, calmly. She noted the quick glance around, and wondered if he felt it compromising to sit with her alone, even in the publicity of a hotel lounge. “We drive most afternoons, and go to the theatre every evening. I’m having a giddy time—just about as different from Norton as it’s possible to imagine! Have you heard anything from the Manor? That wretched girl has never sent me as much as a postal, and I’m dying to hear what’s going on.”
“No. I’ve heard nothing. I never for a moment expected that I should. Greville is too much engaged.” Guest knitted his brows, bitched his trousers at the knee, and cleared his throat uncertainly. Cornelia divined that he was waiting for her to refer to his aunt’s invitation, and feeling somewhat at a loss to account for the severity of her costume. At last the question came out suddenly.
“Er—you got my note?”