“There are two friends of mine at the table in the corner by the window.”
“Yes?” he said.
And he turned his head to look.
As he did so, perhaps influenced by his eyes, or by the fact that the attention of two minds was at that moment concentrated on him, Craven looked towards them.
“I want to introduce you to them if possible,” said Miss Van Tuyn.
And she made a gesture to Craven, beckoned to him to come to her. He looked surprised, reluctant. She saw that he flushed slightly. But she persisted in her invitation. She had lost her head in Glebe Place, but now she would retrieve the situation. Vanity, fear, an obscure jealousy, and something else pushed her on. And she beckoned again. She saw Craven lean over and say something to Lady Sellingworth. Then he got up and came down the room towards her, threading his way among the many tables.
Miss Van Tuyn was looking at him just then and not at Arabian.
Craven came up, looking stiff, almost awkward, and markedly more English than usual. At least she thought so.
“How d’you do, Miss Van Tuyn? How are you?”
She gave him her hand with a smile.