“Just so. I understand! And when is the wedding to be?”
Grizel’s face lengthened in dismay.
“Goodness me—I haven’t told you, have I? No one is to know for a couple of months. How on earth did you guess? Please don’t speak of it to a soul. You see, it’s a trifle awkward, because as a matter of fact the real man,—it wasn’t the real man,—I mean it was the real man really, only he pretended—”
Cassandra held up a protesting hand.
“I think you’d better leave it alone! You didn’t tell me anything; I guessed, but I’ll promise to forget forthwith, and be agreeably surprised when I hear the news a few months hence. Don’t tell me any names!”
Before Grizel could reply the whizz of an electric bell sounded through the house, and both women involuntarily groaned, foreseeing an end to their tête-à-tête, but the next moment Grizel’s eyes brightened.
“It’s a man!” she whispered ecstatically. “It’s a man. I can hear his dear boots! My first man caller! Oh joy! Oh rapture!”
“Captain Peignton.”
Dane entered, his eyes narrowed in his usual, short-sighted fashion. Cassandra noticed that he threw a quick glance round the room and guessed, what was indeed the truth, that he had hoped to meet Teresa Mallison, and have an opportunity of escorting her home. When he caught sight of herself, his face showed a ripple of feeling that came and went before she could decipher its meaning. Then he sat down, and made conversation to Grizel, and was smiled at in return with a display of dimples which seemed to have sprung into existence for his benefit. Certainly the old ladies had not been treated to them; even Cassandra herself had come off second best, for Grizel was essentially a man’s woman, who awoke to her highest self in the presence of the opposite sex. It was easy to see that the present visitor was making a favourable impression, and that Grizel was alive to the charm which Cassandra had found it so difficult to define.
Looking on in silence during the first moments of conversation, Cassandra was not so sure that Peignton reciprocated his hostess’s approval. Her light flow of conversation seemed to disconcert rather than put him at his ease, his answers came with difficulty, his eyes had none of their usual brightness. Well! the man who could fall in love with Teresa Mallison would hardly be likely to appreciate Grizel Beverley. Cassandra made up her mind to take her departure, but some minutes elapsed before she really rose, and then to her surprise Peignton also made his farewells, and accompanied her to the door. Outside, the car stood waiting, and as he helped her into it and held out his hand in farewell, his face in the fading light looked pale and tired, and Cassandra spoke on a quick impulse: