“Since you were so careless as not to have one ready, I cannot possibly wait while you repair your negligence. I must endeavour to make the best of your private omnibus.”
It is some distance from Kensington to Dupont’s Restaurant—which is, of course, in Regent Street—so that it took some time to drive. I do not know what kind of thing those five men had been looking forward to, but it was some satisfaction to feel that I was making each one of them about as uncomfortable as he could be made. I was in a pretty mood—I really was. It was amazing that they did not get out in a body, and leave me to occupy that omnibus all by myself. I had heard of what men will endure from some women. I had an object-lesson then. I knew, somehow, that it made no difference how I treated them. They would still be my humble, obedient, devoted slaves. When a girl has that feeling, for the very first time, it is a little tempting.
I decided that they were not a bad good-looking crowd. No girl need be ashamed of being seen with them. Mr Carter and Mr Purchase were distinctly handsome—though they were looking glum. Walter Hammond was not so bad, though he was lanky. As he would himself have phrased it, there was a sporting something about him of the right sort. Then his clothes fitted him as mine never would fit me; and when he had his eyeglass in his eye he looked quite striking. Mr Rumford was a trifle puffy, and he suggested trade—though nothing quite so bad as Aunt Jane’s Jalap. But then he was so plainly redolent of money that he passed muster. And then Major Tibbet was obviously someone—if only because he looked such a little horror.
Conversation languished. That was owing to me. When we had gone some distance Mr Rumford took out his watch.
“I am afraid we shall be late for the theatre. Piece begins at eight. Half-past seven now.”
“I presume that we have reserved seats. As they will be retained for us it doesn’t matter what time we occupy them.”
“Quite so—only, it disturbs the audience going in in the middle of the piece.”
“Really?”
That remark, from me, put a period to that topic. It made it so clear that to me it was a matter of the most complete indifference whether the audience was, or was not, disturbed. As a rule, I think it is horrid for people to come in late—so ill-bred—it upsets everyone. But I had a point of view for that night only.
I made another observation, when it seemed that you could have cut with a knife the silence which ensued.