"You are bound to meet her somewhere," said Peggie consolingly, "and if not, you may be sure she'll take good care of your Robin, so don't be uneasy."
Prue gave her a half-comical, half-reproachful glance. "I never saw Barbara look as charming as she did to-day," she pouted. "Those tall lace heads are certainly very becoming to her kind of figure—they make her look quite slender—and the touch of hair-powder gave an extra sparkle to her eyes."
"'Twas not the powder on her hair, but the rouge on her cheeks that made her eyes sparkle," quoth Peggie, who was a trifle jealous of Barbara's influence.
"Do you think so? Would a little rouge improve me, do you think? I am sure I look faded." Prue peered anxiously into a mirror, but the sight that greeted her eye was reassuring. "I wish I had kept him here; we could have hidden him somewhere," she said, with a regretful sigh.
"Where?" cried Peggie trenchantly. "Under grannie's bed, belike! Any other place might have been searched if Lord Beachcombe had brought a constable with a warrant!"
"He is capable of that, even now," Prue agreed. "Barbara's coquetry is more dangerous to me, perhaps, but safer for Robin."
Poor Prue was doomed to a good many heart-pangs that evening, and without even the accustomed support of Peggie's sympathy. After Lady Rialton's dinner the cousins separated. Peggie returned home, and Prue, with less heartiness than usual, pursued the round of social functions. Her first inquiry at every house was for Barbara Sweeting. No one was surprised at that, because the two were known to be the closest allies; but she had not been seen anywhere, a circumstance that caused some remark in so pious a pilgrim of pleasure. Various reasons were suggested, such as an attack of vapors, the return of General Sweeting's gout, or chagrin at not having been invited to take part in the amateur theatricals at Marlborough House, none of which satisfied Prue, who, perhaps for the first time in her life, felt the serpent-tooth of jealousy.
But if Barbara's absence disturbed her, she was goaded almost beyond endurance by the persistence of Lord Beachcombe, who followed her like a shadow, ignoring alike her snubs and the gibes of those who fancied themselves on the trail of a renovated infatuation. In self-defense she kept Sir Geoffrey in close attendance, reckless of significant glances from curious eyes that were swift to mark his air of triumphant proprietorship, until at last, worn out with disappointment and fatigue, she begged him to call her chair, as she was dying to go home and get to bed.
"And do, I implore you, leave me to go away alone, Sir Geoffrey," she entreated, in most pathetic tones. "I am too weary to entertain any one; you must see for yourself that I am almost too tired to speak."
It was impossible to contradict her, for her pale face and clouded eyes betrayed intense nervous strain. Sir Geoffrey contented himself with obtaining permission to inquire after her health at an early hour next day, and repaired to his club, where he speedily found distraction at the card-table.