“What?”
“Nothing. It’s lovely to be back again; but sometimes one feels a little lonely when people are all talking together, and going off into little groups. In Calcutta it was different, for we knew every one, and every one knew us. Is one always disappointed, I wonder, when a thing happens which one had longed for, for years and years? I don’t know what I want, but I want something!” cried Peggy drearily, and pressed her hands to her brow, while her friend looked on with sympathetic gaze.
“It’s tea!” she declared oracularly. “It is five o’clock, and you know, Peggy, you always did get melancholy if tea was later than usual. Let us go downstairs and order it at once.”
Peggy slid her hand in her friend’s arm with a soft explosion of laughter.
“So we will,” she said cheerily. “It’s a capital explanation. Tea! Oh, you sensible old Chubby!”
Chapter Seven.
Two evenings later Peggy edged her way out of the crowd at Mrs Rollo’s reception, and sat down in a corner with a gasp of relief. Eunice had been correct in prophesying a crush, for the suite of entertaining-rooms seemed a solid block of people, and the babel of voices almost drowned the music, which was being discoursed at intervals by a violinist with a shock head, a Signor with an Italian name and an English face, and a lady with an elaborate coiffure, who, in turn, warbled by herself, and joined in the rendering of impassioned Italian duets. The accompanist flourished up and down the piano, and the singers held their music at arm’s length, half-acting the words as they alternately frowned and smiled, and having gone their separate ways throughout three whole pages, joined together in a conclusive burst of triumph. The babel of talk went on with even greater energy when the last note had died away, and Peggy pursed up her lips in doubtful compliment.
“That’s over, thank goodness! I don’t know what it was all about, but she said, ‘Si,’ ‘Si,’ a great many times over, and they seemed happy at the end, so that’s satisfactory. It must be very exhausting to smile so hard, and sing so loudly at the same time, so I hope other people appreciated their efforts more than I did.” Peggy sighed, and stifled a yawn. She was feeling just a trifle tired and depressed in spirits, for the day had been a busy one, and the process of dressing for the evening had been delayed by one of those careless tricks for which she was famous. Some trifling alteration having to be made to the belt of her sash, she had taken it in hand herself, and put it—where? That was the question. Nowhere in any of the three bedrooms could that belt be found, and while the brougham waited at the door, and an impatient male tramped up and down, four distracted females rushed to and fro, opening drawers, ransacking wardrobes, and burrowing beneath beds. Mrs Saville grew nervous and hysterical; her husband tugged at his moustache, and vowed his intention of sending away the brougham and spending the evening at home if this sort of “foolishness” went on much longer; and Mellicent was on the point of tears, when at last the missing treasure was discovered, squashed flat beneath a cushion, in company with a magazine, a handkerchief, an odd glove, and several stray needles.