She was getting bored by this time, and decided that this might be a favourable point at which to end the catechism, so she rose and strolled across the room, leaving Mrs Fotheringham to express her consternation to the nearest listener.
“How extraordinary! Did you hear? She said she does!”
But Mrs Evans had known the question-monger from a child, and stood upon no ceremony.
“You had no right to put such a question, Flora. It was impertinent. Mrs Beverley answered in the only manner possible, by turning it into a joke.”
“I suppose so. Yes. It must have been a joke. She looks happy.” The birdlike eyes roved towards Martin, who had just entered the room with the other men, and subjected him to a curious scrutiny. “Do you think he looks worth it?”
“My dear, it is immaterial what I think! How can any outsider judge of the worth which another woman’s husband represents to herself? It’s not a question of credentials. It’s a question of fit!”
Half an hour later the Squire buttonholed Peignton in a corner of the room, and gave him his instructions.
“I’ve ordered the car for Miss Mallison. See her safely home, will you, and take it on to your own place? Might as well do two good turns while it’s about it.”
His look gave significance to the words, and Peignton could not do less than declare his pleasure at the suggestion. As a matter of fact, however, it was not pleasure of which he was conscious at that moment, but something unaccountably like disappointment.
He had not expected the evening to end so soon; he was unwilling to be dismissed. Throughout the long dinner he had been subconsciously looking forward to something to come; and he now felt defrauded and chilled. He had imagined that he would have had five minutes’ talk with Lady Cassandra—that they would laugh together, and in the meeting of eyes exchange confidences which it would have been indiscreet to put into words, but Cassandra was surrounded by guests of honour, and apparently oblivious of his presence.