“Well,” he said cheerily, “here you are in the midst of the merry throng! Have you had a pleasant time? Not! Why, how’s that? I thought you enjoyed seeing a crowd of people.”
“I thought I did, but I find I don’t like it so much as I expected,” said Hilary dejectedly. “When people are talking and laughing all round, and I am left to keep myself company in a corner, it isn’t at all amusing. I suppose there are a great many celebrated people here, but I don’t know one from the other, so I am no wiser.”
“Never mind, I know them all. We will sit here quietly, and when anyone interesting comes along, I will let you know. Your father has been so kind to me, and has encouraged me until I feel as strong as a giant, and greedy for work. He has asked me to come down to the Lakes to visit you some time in spring, so I may see you again before long. Now then! one of those ladies over there on the sofa is the Duchess of M—. Guess which of the three she is!”
“Oh, I know; the pretty one, of course, with the blue dress, and the bonnet with the cream lace.”
“Wrong! Guess again.”
“The dark one with the beaded cape!”
“Wrong again! It is the grey-haired lady in the corner.”
Hilary gasped, and stared aghast at the stout, shabby lady, who looked everything that was motherly and pleasant, but as different as possible from her ideas of what a duchess ought to be. Then Mr Rayner went on to point out a poet, a painter of celebrated pictures, and half-a-dozen men and women whose names the girl had known from her youth, but who all seemed terribly disappointing in reality. She expressed her opinions in a candid manner, which seemed vastly to amuse her hearer, and they were so merry together that Hilary saw many envious glances directed towards their corner, and realised that other people were envying her in their turn. Madge Newcome came up to say good-bye, before leaving, and elevated her eyebrows in a meaning manner towards Mr Rayner.
“You seem to be having a pleasant time. I think Mr Rayner has such an interesting face, but people say he is so stiff and reserved that it is impossible to know him.”
“He is not reserved to me!” said Hilary consequentially. She had not forgiven Madge Newcome for her desertion an hour earlier, and shook hands with an air of dignified reserve.