So that was arranged. There came that delightful day when the General and his daughter travelled up from Eastbourne, and met Guy and his sister in the vestibule of the famous London restaurant.
Isobel was dreadfully nervous, but quite excitedly happy. What a lovely new life! The tepid gaieties of Eastbourne paled their ineffectual fires in comparison with the present festivity.
The two women took to each other at once. It did not take the shrewd Mary long to discover that this beautiful girl was genuinely in love with the equally good-looking Guy, that here was no artful and designing maiden.
The General, simple and dignified, made an equally good impression upon her. In manner and bearing he was the true type of aristocrat, as much so as Lord Saxham himself. Fortunately for others, he lacked the Earl’s somewhat explosive qualities.
They lingered in the lounge some time after lunch, and here the two women had a little private chat together, with the view of cementing their acquaintance.
Mary promised to be their friend, and to use all her influence to wear down her father’s opposition.
Isobel thanked her warmly. “It seems an unkind thing to say,” she added, at the conclusion of her little outburst of gratitude. “But I almost wish that Guy were a poor man.”
Mary looked at her questioningly; she did not, for the moment, catch the drift of her thoughts.
“There couldn’t, then, be all this fuss and trouble,” explained Isobel, with a little catch in her voice. “People wouldn’t be able to think that I had run after him, they would know I only cared for him for himself. Now, whatever happens, they will always think the worst of me.”
Mary whispered back the consoling answer, “There are two people who will never think that, myself and Guy.”