A moment later Bessie felt her arm grasped, and Edna whispered excitedly:
“Look, Bessie; is it my fancy—that gentleman standing by the flower-stall—is it——”
“Yes, it is Mr. Sinclair,” returned Bessie calmly. “Oh, he sees us now; he is coming to speak to us. Dear Edna, please don’t look so pale over it; you surely do not mind seeing him.”
But Edna was beyond answering; there was not an atom of color in her face as Mr. Sinclair came up to them and lifted his hat.
It was very odd that just at that minute Bessie was seized with an uncontrollable longing to become the possessor of a Japanese fan. It was excessively dear and excessively ugly, and the young person in the Catherine de Medicis ruff who was in charge of that part of the stall was otherwise engaged; nevertheless, Bessie would not give up her point. Mrs. Sefton was on the other side of the room, talking to Lady Hampton; and though it was clearly Bessie’s duty to remain with Edna, she was perfectly blind to the fact; she did not even wait to greet Mr. Sinclair, but turned her back on him in the rudest manner, and kept her eyes on the gaudy specimen of Japanese art.
It was ten minutes before the coveted article was in her possession, and even then the stall seemed to fascinate her, and she was just making up her mind that a certain little blue vase would please Christine when Mrs. Sefton touched her arm.
“My dear child, why have you hidden yourself? and what has become of Edna?”
“Edna?” looking round; but there was clearly no vestige of her, or of Mr. Sinclair either. It was easy to escape detection in that crowd. “She was here just now. Mr. Sinclair was with her, and——”
“Neville here!” in intense surprise.
“Yes; and Edna seemed rather upset at seeing him, and so I left them.”