“Well, I hope you will come and see me at the Metropole before I leave; I go to Ostend next week. Good-bye; I am so pleased to have met you;” and with another sweet smile she moved away.
Celia gave a little sigh of relief. “There is something I don’t like about Mrs. Neville Williams,” she remarked to Enid as they took their seats. “I fancy that she is too sugary to be sincere. Lady Marjorie positively detests her, though I haven’t the faintest idea why.”
“She is awfully made-up,” said Cynthia, disapprovingly. “And just look at the way she sweeps the dust off the pier with those long skirts.”
They passed her yet again on their way home. She was conversing with a gentleman in French, and affected not to see them this time.
Celia made up her mind not to call at the Metropole, for she was not desirous of cultivating her acquaintance. It was not often she took a dislike to any one without adequate cause, but she felt a vague distrust of Mrs. Neville Williams, especially as Lady Marjorie disliked her too.
There was a letter from Lady Marjorie waiting for her when she got back to Woodruffe. She was enjoying herself immensely, and Herbert was having good sport. Celia was surprised at the familiar way in which she wrote of him. The letter was full of “Herbert;” he was no longer “Mr. Karne.” Were they going to make a match of it after all, the girl wondered? She, for one, would be delighted if they did.
There was also a letter from David Salmon, who was spending his holidays in the Isle of Man. He would probably run down to Brighton before the end of the month; and he hoped Celia was having a good time.
Celia read the letter twice, and then absent-mindedly tore it up into little bits. Cynthia Wilton watched her in surprise.
“You naughty girl!” she exclaimed. “Is that what you do with your love-letters? What would your fiancé say? Look, this is where I keep my sweetheart’s letters.” She pulled one out from the inside of her blouse. “Just over my heart, you see.”
“I don’t know that I have a heart,” Celia answered, half playfully, half in earnest.