Chapter Four.
Conjectures.
Mrs Ray Jefferson, irrespective of a toilet of ruby velvet cut en coeur, and a display of diamonds calculated to make men thoughtful on the subject of speculation, and women envious on the subject of husbandly generosity (even when connected with Chemicals), was quite the feature of the Hotel drawing-room that night. She was full of her adventure of the morning, and her description of the beautiful stranger lost nothing from the picturesque language in which she clothed her narrative.
“It’s very odd the Manager won’t tell us her name,” she rattled on. “I’ve done my level best to find out, but it’s no good. I suppose she pays too well for him to risk betraying her. I’m sure she’s a Russian Princess; she has a suite with her, and carries musicians and sculptors, and heaven knows who else, in her train.”
It may be noticed that Mrs Ray Jefferson had only heard of a sculptor and a musician, but she drifted into plurality by force of that irresistible tendency to exaggerate trifles which seems inherent in women who are given to scandal even in its mildest form.
People from all parts of the room gathered round her. A few seemed inclined to doubt her description of the stranger’s personal charms, but when she applied to Mrs Masterman for confirmation, that lady, who was known to have a strict regard for truth in its most uncompromising form, emphatically agreed with her.
“Beautiful! I should think she was beautiful,” she said, in her usual surly fashion. “But,”—and then came a series of those curious and condemnatory phrases with which a woman invariably finishes her praise of another woman’s beauty, and which are too well known to be repeated.
“I did my best to try and persuade her to join us,” continued Mrs Jefferson, after duly agreeing with Mrs Masterman that perhaps the stranger’s hair was a shade too black, and her height too tall, and her complexion too pale—and that there was something uncanny in the expression of the dark wild eyes, “more like the eyes of a horse than a human being,” was Mrs Masterman’s verdict. “But nothing would induce her. She says Society is all a sham. That we don’t really amuse ourselves or enjoy ourselves, however much we pretend to! My word! doesn’t she give it hot to everything. Policy, religion, diplomacy, worldliness, theology, art. It seems to me she knows everything, and has studied human life more accurately than the wisest philosopher I’ve ever heard of.”
“And did you discuss all those subjects during the course of a Turkish Bath?” said a voice near her.