The block on the pavement made consecutive conversation impossible, and the three edged their way in and out in silence until Fuller’s was reached, and one of the last tables secured. The room looked very bright and dainty, the Christmas garlands still festooning the walls and framing the mirrors, the hanging lights covered by rose-coloured shades. The soft pink light was very kind to the complexions of the visitors, nevertheless Claire felt a guilty pang as she looked into the nearest mirror and beheld the reflection of herself and her friend as they sat side by side. As a rule, it was pure pleasure to realise her own fair looks; but for the moment they were of no importance, whereas poor dear Cecil had a lover to please, and there was no denying Cecil was not looking her best! Her expression was frowning and dissatisfied. She had taken off her veil in the hall and her hair was disarranged; compared with the fashionable groups round the other tables, she looked suddenly shabby and insignificant, her little attempts at decoration pitifully betraying the amateur hand.
“Oh, dear me, why won’t she smile? She looks quite pretty when she smiles. I’ll hold her before a mirror some day and show her the difference it makes. Ten years disappear in a flash! Now what in the world had I better be—agreeable and chatty, or cold and stand-off? I’ll do anything to please her, but it is hard lines having our afternoon spoiled, and being sulked at into the bargain. Cakes, please—lots of sweet, sugary cakes! Won’t that do, Cecil? We can have bread-and-butter at home!”
“Cecil! Cecil! Her name is Mary. Why do you call her Cecil?” cried the Major quickly, looking from one girl to another. Claire fancied there was a touch of suspicion in his voice, and wondered that he should show so much interest in a mere nickname.
“Because she is ‘Rhodes,’ of course.”
For a moment his stare showed no understanding, then, “Oh! that fellow!” he said slowly. “I see! It’s a pretty name anyway. Beats Mary to fits. Mary is so dull and prosaic. Too many of them about. One gets sick of the sound.”
“Is that intended for me by any chance?” asked Cecil in her most acid tones, whereupon the Major cried, “Oh! Put my foot in it that time, didn’t I?” and burst into a long guffaw of laughter, which brought on him the eyes of the surrounders.
Claire’s interest had already been aroused by a little party of two men and two women who were sitting at a table in the corner of the room, and who were, to her thinking, by far the most attractive personalities present. The men were tall, well set up, not especially handsome in any way, but possessing an unmistakable look of breeding. One of the women was old, the other young, and it would have been hard to say which was the more attractive of the two. They were quietly but very elegantly dressed, handsome furs being thrown back, to show pretty bodices of ninon and lace.
When Major Carew gave that loud unrestrained laugh, the four members of this attractive party turned to see whence the sound arose; but whereas three faces remained blankly indifferent, the fourth was in the moment transformed into an expression of the liveliest surprise. He stared, narrowing his eyes as if doubting that they were really seeing aright, twisted his head to get a fuller view, and, obtaining it, twisted back into his original position, his lips twitching with laughter. Then he spoke a few words, his companions leant forward to listen, and to two faces out of the three, the laughter spread on hearing what he had to say.
Only the elder of the two ladies retained her gravity. Her sweet glance rested on Claire’s face, and her brow contracted in distress. In the Major and Cecil she showed no interest, but Claire’s appearance evidently aroused curiosity and pity. “What is she doing in that galère?” The question was written on every line of the sweet high-bred face, and Claire read its significance and flinched with distaste.
“How they stare!” cried Mary Rhodes. “The man looked as if he knew you, Frank. Do you know who he is?”