“Not—not if I can help it. Well, I’ll be with you about three. I can’t talk now; I’m busy.”
But she sat for half an hour quite unoccupied, at least she had no tangible occupation. She wrote no letters and she sent no more invitations. The only thing she did was to light a cigarette and stare out of the window at the bare branches of the trees, just faintly beginning to bud. And yet she was not thinking of the view, for she looked for quite five minutes at the Albert Memorial, and it was an edifice she loathed. Her face was set and expressionless, only her eyes burned like live, glowing coals in her head.
Rhoda Carnegie was lunching with her. She had rung up earlier in the day and requested the meal, saying quite frankly that a man had failed her and that she wanted some decent food.
Claudia neither liked nor disliked her, she had got used to her, for every now and then she had drifted into the Iverson household.
Rhoda was late, but as Claudia knew her habits she had ordered lunch a quarter of an hour later than usual.
“I’m late, dear. So sorry. But I put on six hats and hated them all, so I’ve come out in the ugliest.” It was a queer-shaped one, that showed the tip of her nose and part of an ear.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get run over when you wear a hat like that?” laughed Claudia.
“It does make the day seem gloomy, I admit. But a hat like this intrigues a man. He doesn’t know what else there is to it. There’s nothing like mystery about a hat. Well, and how goes l’affaire Hamilton?”
Claudia started to frown and then changed her mind. Rhoda was not actively malicious, except when she hated a rival, and a frown would be wasted on her.
“Oh! quite nicely,” she said coolly, inwardly a little startled that it should have come to that. “I think the picture will be a success this time.”