The music stopped and she found Frank at her side.
“At last! I have been waiting for you all the afternoon. I was afraid you were not coming. Claudia, this cannot go on. You are driving me mad. It is deliberate? Have you all the time just been playing with me?”
“Hush! don’t be so indiscreet.” She smiled, for Mrs. Rivington’s words returned to her mind. Frank Hamilton attracted by Mrs. Jacob’s money-bags! “I’ll talk to you later. You shall get me some tea. I must go over and speak to mother.”
She threaded her way, with handshakes and smiles, to where Circe, in a most exquisite frock, sat in a shaded corner, among a lot of scented cushions. She was talking with more animation than usual to a man whose back was towards Claudia. With her quick eye for beauty, she noticed that he had a particularly well-shaped head, which was finely set on his shoulders. Circe was talking in French to him.
“Eh bien, mon cher, Claudia est très belle, et elle est—”
Circe caught sight of her, and stopped short. Had it not been almost impossible, Claudia would have thought that her mother looked distinctly embarrassed and taken aback. Then the well-known sweet smile drifted over her still beautiful mouth, and the momentary impression vanished.
“Claudia, we were just talking of you. You are late, child. Let me introduce to you an old friend, Mr. Mavrocopoulos.”
The man rose and bowed with unusual grace, and Claudia saw a very well-preserved man of about fifty-five, with black hair flecked with grey, and remarkably fine dark eyes. She returned his evident look of interest, and again she received a peculiar impression as of something that was vaguely familiar and yet somewhat dreamlike. She was aware that Circe was watching them.
“Have I not met you before?” inquired Claudia. “Your face seems familiar to me, somehow.”