Hereupon Val—or perhaps vermouth, since Val seems a little astonished at his own gallantry—suddenly replies that if he were like that he would have to give up Mrs. Maynard. If Mrs. Maynard also is a little surprised she covers it with great readiness.
"Oh, now the dreadful man's beginning again!" she cries. "If you will say those things, Mr. Clayton, I shall have to change places at table!"
Mr. Clayton asks here what is wrong with her hair.—"I think it's champion," he adds. "Very nice indeed," he adds once more.
"Oh, how can you!" (As a matter of fact, Mrs. Maynard's hair is rather wonderful, dark, and so long that she can sit on it.) "No fish, thank you," she says, with a smile to the waiter.
Then Mrs. Lacey's firm voice is heard. "Can anybody tell me whether there have been many wrecks on this coast?"
The person best qualified to give this information is John Willie Garden, but Mrs. Maynard has turned to John Willie, and is asking him whether he does not think she swims rather nicely. Her tendril-like fingers are again stroking his hair. Mrs. Lacey considers Mrs. Maynard's tulle-swathed hat the ostentation of modesty and the coquetry of mourning (if she is in mourning), and, getting no answer to her question about the wrecks, invents a name for Mrs. Maynard: "Mrs. Maynard—as she calls herself." Plates are changed, corks pop, and from time to time a seltzogene gives a spurt and a cough. Raymond Briggs explains that he is fond of strawberries, but strawberries are not fond of him. The chatter grows louder.
"I took her as a kitchen-maid, but she turned out quite a good plain cook——"
"Oh, like a top—as Dr. Smythe says, it's the air."
"Oh, I prefer it rustic; like this!"
"Quite so—the first tripper and I'm off!"