"That's not he?"
"Yes, it is, though," said Wandesforde, craning forward. "Good Lord! fancy Evey Byrne letting herself be dragged to the Aero Show! She must have got it badly!"
Mrs. Byrne was a very pretty woman, and even more charming than she was pretty. She had a husband who was impossible to live with and whom she could not divorce because she was a Catholic. He had no such scruples, however; he had dragged her through the court on trumped-up evidence, and she had emerged, like Susannah, without a stain on her character. It was felt that she had been hardly used. In the circumstances, and as she knew how to give a good dinner and was popular with women as well as men, she was allowed a good deal of license. She needed it all. She was very sweet, and very innocent, and hopelessly indiscreet, with an Irish aptitude for tumbling into scrapes. She could no more help using her lovely eyes than a violet can help smelling; and men buzzed round her always like wasps round a peach. The latest of her captives, having led her to a seat, now stood beside her with bent head to receive her instructions, while she drew the gloves off her lovely hands and arms. What Denis felt it was impossible to say; his attitude bespoke admiration, but nothing more.
She finished her directions, he nodded assent, and threaded his way through the crowd towards the buffet. Turning to retrace his steps with a nicely balanced load of tea and strawberries, he came face to face with another pair who had just come in. The encounter might have been foreseen, and indeed Lettice had given the chance a thought; for Dorothea's eyes were not, like Denis's, easy to dodge. Here she was, then, she too with a cavalier in attendance, to judge from his expression a devoted cavalier. And no wonder; Dorothea, in a long cloak of violet velvet, and a big velvet hat with sweeping plume, made an enchanting figure. Her face, which had lost its childish softness, was less pretty, but far more alluring. April was unfolding to the bloom of May.
Seeing Denis, she stopped dead; then her face broke into sunshine, she colored like a damask rose, and moved forward impulsively with outstretched hands. Denis continued on his way. The violet velvet was actually brushing his sleeve. "I beg your pardon!" he said with unmoved politeness, drawing back from contact. He rejoined his companion and sat down at her table.
For the first time in her life Lettice found herself enjoying the sight of pain.
CHAPTER XXII BREAD AND SALT
Were you thinking how we, sitting side by side,