“He’s a member of the Club. His name is Vavasour. We know each other by sight.” Major Carew’s florid colour had grown a shade deeper, he was evidently disconcerted by the encounter; but he made a strong effort to regain his composure, smiled at the two girls in turn, and cried lightly, “Envies me, I suppose, seeing me with two such charmers!”
“He didn’t look exactly envious!” Cecil said drily. She also had noticed that reflection in the mirror, and it had not helped to soothe her spirits. She felt an unreasoning anger against Claire for appearing more attractive than herself, but it did not occur to her that she was heightening the contrast by her own dour, ungracious manner. Altogether that tea-party was a difficult occasion, and as it proceeded, Claire’s spirits sank ever lower and lower. She had spent more than she had any right to afford on those two expensive tickets, hoping thereby to give pleasure, and now Cecil was in a bad temper, and would snap for days to come.—It was not a cheerful outlook, and for the second time a feeling of restiveness overtook her, a longing for a companion who would help the gaiety of life—such a companion as pretty, lively, happy-go-lucky Sophie Blake, for example. How refreshing it would be to live with Sophie! Just for a moment Claire dwelt wistfully on the possibility, then banished it with a loyal “She doesn’t need me, and Cecil does. She’s fond of me in her funny way. She must be, for she has confided in me already, more than in any of the others whom she’s known for years, and perhaps I may be able to help...”
The Major passed his cup for a second supply; a waitress brought a plate of hot cakes; the occupants of the corner table stood up, fastening furs and coats, and passed out of the door. With their going Major Carew regained his vivacity, chaffed the girls on their silence, recounted the latest funny stories, and to Claire’s relief addressed himself primarily to his fiancée, thus putting her in the place of honour.
Nevertheless Claire was conscious that from time to time keen glances were cast in her own direction. She had a feeling that no detail of her attire escaped scrutiny, that the black eyes noted one and all, wondered, and speculated, and appraised. She saw them dwell on the handsome fur stole and muff which Mrs Judge bequeathed to her daughter on sailing for India, on the old diamond ring and brooch which had been handed over to her on her twenty-first birthday; she had an instinctive feeling that she rose in the man’s estimation because of her air of prosperity. He made tentative efforts to arrange a further meeting. “Where do you go on Sundays, Miss Gifford? I say, we must arrange another tea like this. Lots of good tea places in town. We must sample them together. What do you say, Miss Gifford?”
Claire’s answers were politely evasive, and presently he began to grow restless, and finally pulled out his watch, and jumped to his feet.
“How time flies! I had no idea it was so late. I must run. So sorry to leave you like this.”
Mary Rhodes stared in surprise.
“Leave! Frank! But you said—I thought we were going—”
“Yes, I know, I know. I’m sorry, I thought I was free—but—a regimental engagement! Can’t get out of it. I’ll fix up another night. I’ll write.”
There was no doubt that he was genuinely disconcerted at the lateness of the hour, and his leave-taking was of the most hasty description, though he found time to give a lingering pressure to Claire’s hand; then he was gone, and the waitress came across the room and presented the bill.