Effie was moving about the room a little restlessly.
“I don’t quite know how it is—I suppose it’s being ill—but I don’t seem to get on with people quite in the easy way you do, Sheila; but you know at home, before I was ill, they all used to listen and laugh as they do now to you. I don’t want to be left out in the cold.”
“Oh, no!” cried Sheila eagerly, though with a slightly heightened colour. Somehow she too had the feeling that people did not take very much to Effie. They all asked kindly after her, but a little of her conversation seemed to go a long way.
Mrs. Cossart here came in to say that she would dine upstairs with Effie, but that Sheila had better go down with her uncle. So Susan was sent for to get at a dress, the luggage having arrived all safe, and the girl was soon arrayed in a soft black net evening gown, very simple, but very becoming, with a spray of white roses fastened upon her shoulder.
“Mind you tell me about all the people when you come back!” said Effie, who was quite lively and bright in spite of the fatigues and excitements of the day; and Sheila was all curiosity herself, for she had never before stayed at a big hotel, and the novelty of the life amused and interested her immensely.
In the drawing-room there were a few old ladies and a couple of gentlemen reading the paper. They did not look very amusing, Sheila thought. Then the Dumaresqs came in, except Sir Guy, who was not well enough to appear. But Lady Dumaresq looked bright and happy, confident that the warmth and beauty about him would soon put him right.
A gong sounded, and there was a move to the adjoining dining-room, and Sheila found herself seated at a long table between her uncle and Ronald Dumaresq, who coolly took possession of the empty seat laid for Effie, whilst the other guests filed in, some to the long table, and some to the small ones at the side, and the business of dinner began.
Sheila was not hungry, but she enjoyed watching and listening. A rather handsome lady opposite was making advances to their party with an air of assurance and friendly patronage which rather amused Sheila.
“A regular old hotel stager,” whispered Ronald to her in an aside, “would know the sort anywhere. Keeps her husband in good order, one can see. Rather a fine woman, but I don’t care for her style.”
Then there were the usual habitués of a health resort—a wife with a delicate husband, a husband with a delicate wife, a mother with a little asthmatic boy (who would have been better in bed at such an hour), a few travellers bent on pleasure and relaxation rather than health. Sheila tried to piece histories on to the different faces, and Ronald made some comical remarks and shrewd guesses. But the party was not large for the size of the hotel. The season was quite early. It was not often so full as this till after Christmas. A rather wet summer and the threatened outbreak of influenza had frightened a good many people off before the usual time.