Eirene looked at her with something like suspicion. “Yes,” she said coldly, and, taking the massive clasp from Zoe’s hands, she returned it to its place and snapped down the false bottom over it. Her displeasure was so uncalled for that Zoe experienced a return of the unamiable feelings of the evening before, but before the box had been restored to its usual appearance the momentary cloud had passed away, and Eirene was replying with gay defiance to Mrs Smith’s remonstrances through the closed door on her delay.
The next stage in Zoe’s appreciation of her new friend’s personality came at breakfast-time, when Eirene remarked with smiling effrontery to Maurice, whom Zoe had just introduced to her with a formality intended to show that the acquaintance of the day before was insufficient—
“It is so kind of Zoe to have arranged everything, so that we need not enter upon any tiresome explanations. Please be assured of my best thanks for adopting me as a sister during the journey. Until we part at Therma I am Eirene, if you please. You, if I am not mistaken, are Maurice?”
As much astonished as his rightful sister, and conscious of Mrs Smith’s face of wrathful agony in the background, Maurice had sufficient presence of mind to accept the situation, and mutter something about pleasure and honour. The only unembarrassed member of the party was Eirene herself, who motioned Zoe to the seat beside her at the table, and Maurice to that opposite, informing her outraged aunt that she would find her step-nephew bien gentil and truly conversable. Taking the lead herself as a matter of course, she insisted on making the talk general, and before long Maurice and Zoe found their embarrassment fading away. Mrs Smith remained implacable, and answered only when she was directly addressed; but the other three were able to laugh and talk quite naturally. From his solitary table on the other side of the gangway, the man whom Zoe had styled the King’s messenger watched them with wistful amusement.
“It’s pretty clear the younger girl is only Smith’s step-sister,” he said to himself, “and the aunt is her private property. I suppose the aunt married the father’s brother, as her name is Smith too. No, that would make her their aunt as well. It’s a sort of puzzle in relationships; but with such a common name it may well be a mere coincidence. I should say the aunt and the younger girl’s mother were foreign and noble, and a good deal inclined to look down on the plain English part of the family. Smith will soon get tired of being tyrannised over by that little minx, and I could see Miss Smith didn’t half like it when they came in. It’s the sort of thing that palls pretty quickly. I suppose they wanted to make the step-sister’s acquaintance, but why bring the aunt, who has evidently made her the sun and centre of things? What a pity we can’t eliminate Mrs Smith! If she was out of the way—a convenient headache, now—I think Smith might take pity upon my loneliness and ask me to their table. They sound awfully jolly all together, and with three of us against her, it would be hard if we couldn’t take Miss Eirene down a peg. Her brother and sister are much too meek.”
Mrs Smith was not accommodating enough to have a headache—indeed, her expression implied that heartily as she detested her present position, wild horses should not drag her from it—but Captain Wylie was not forbidden the introduction he desired. “My sister, Miss Smith—Miss Eirene Smith,” said Maurice, bringing him up to the girls after breakfast, and receiving a smile from Eirene for his adroitness, though the presentation did not seem altogether to please her, apparently because her consent had not been secured beforehand. She gave Wylie the cold shoulder, as though she had read his sentiments towards her and reciprocated them, but Zoe, who had incited Maurice to introduce him, was quite satisfied. Wylie was the kind of man she liked. If he would talk, he could tell her things about India which might be useful in future; if not, she could look at him and make up far more wonderful things about him herself. He was not much of a talker, as it turned out, but sufficiently articulate to answer informingly when he was questioned, and Zoe was a past mistress in the art of what she called drawing people out, and Maurice, picking their brains.
As the day wore on it became evident to Zoe that Eirene was growing increasingly nervous. She could not rest for a moment, but roamed from one compartment to another, and up and down the corridor, shaking with agitation when she came face to face with any of the other passengers or an official. At last Maurice brought out his travelling chess-board and induced her to sit down to a game, promising that she should walk off her restlessness at Vindobona, so far as a stop of twenty minutes and the limits of the station would allow. But when they were approaching the Imperial city, and Maurice had gone to get his hat, she clutched Zoe’s arm convulsively.
“Oh, I dare not leave the train! It is here I shall be recognised if anywhere. Begin a game, quick; then I can keep my head bent over the board. May I hold your hand?”
Cold and trembling, her hand gripped Zoe’s under the flap of the table, and she was arranging the pieces when Maurice was heard returning. The clutch tightened.
“Don’t let them go far from the carriage. Oh, make them return to us continually! Couldn’t they stay here with us? No, it would excite suspicion. But tell them not to go far.”