"Oh! if you only would."
Philip is still talking outside in the passage to Mr. Eccott. Carol rises, leans over the back of Mrs. Mounteagle's chair whispering hurriedly:
"Philip Roche is here. I don't want him to see his wife with me. Take her under your wing. I will make it worth your while."
Giddy takes the cue instantly. Such compromising situations are not new to her. She is a Machiavelli in petticoats.
"Here, Bertie," she says, "slip into Eleanor's chair, and stop at that table with Mr. Quinton."
She turns, smiles benignly upon Mrs. Roche, and motions her to take the empty seat.
"There, my dear," she murmurs, as Eleanor, confused and ashamed, obeys. "Let bygones be bygones, you are with me to-day. I brought you up to town."
"No, you met me by chance at Madame Faustine's, and we came on here together. Oh! Giddy, how good you are."
"A friend in need, eh? Finish Bertie's fruit salad. Good gracious, you are drinking whiskey and soda. Pass me his glass, it won't matter for me."
Eleanor hands it over with trembling fingers.