Part 11 (2/2)

He was taken from one group to another and made much of and flattered quite openly. He was given claret cup and feathery sandwiches and asked questions and given information. He was chattered to and whispered about and spent half an hour in a polite vortex of presentation. He was not as highly entertained as his companion was because he was thinking of something else--of a place which seemed incredibly far away from London drawing-rooms--even if he could have convinced himself that it existed on the same earth. The trouble was that he was always thinking of this place--and of others. He could not forget them even in the midst of any clamour of life. Sometimes he was afraid he forgot where he was and might look as if he were not listening to people. There were moments when he caught his breath because of a sudden high throb of his heart.

How could he shut out of his mind that which seemed to _be_ his mind--his body--the soul of him!

It was at a moment when he was thinking of this with a sudden sense of disturbance that a silver toned voice evidently speaking to him attracted his attention.

The voice was of silver and the light laugh was silvery.

”You look as if you were not thinking of any of us,” the owner said.

He turned about to find himself looking at one of the prettiest of the filmily dressed creatures in the room. Her frock was one of the briefest and her tiny heels the highest and most slender. The incredible foot and ankle wore a flesh silk stocking so fine that it looked as though they were bare--which was the achievement most to be aspired to. Every atom of her was lovely and her small deep-curved mouth and pure large eyes were like an angel's.

”I believe you remember me!” she said after a second or so in which they held each other's gaze and Donal knew he began to flush slowly.

”Yes,” he answered. ”I do--now I have looked again. You were--The Lady Downstairs.”

She flung out the silver laugh again.

”After all these years! After one has grown old and withered and wrinkled--and has a grown-up daughter.”

He answered with a dazzling young-man-of-the-world bow and air. He had not been to Eton and Oxford and touched the outskirts of two or three London seasons, as a boy beauty and a modest Apollo Belvidere in his teens, without learning a number of pleasant little ways.

”You are exactly as you were the morning you came into the Gardens dressed in crocuses and daffodils. I thought they were daffodils and crocuses. I said so to my mother afterwards.”

He did not like her but he knew how her world talked to her. And he wanted to hear her speak--The Lady Downstairs--who had not ”liked” the soft-eyed, longing, warm little lonely thing.

”All people say of you is entirely true,” she said. ”I did not believe it at first but I do now.” She patted the seat of the small sofa she had dropped on. ”Come and sit here and talk to me a few minutes. Girls will come and s.n.a.t.c.h you away presently but you can spare about three minutes.”

He did as he was told and wondered as he came nearer to the sh.e.l.l fineness of her cheek and her seraphic smile.

”I want you to tell me something about my only child,” she said.

He hoped very much that he did not flush in his sometimes-troublesome blond fas.h.i.+on then. He hoped so.

”I shall be most happy to tell you anything I have the honour of knowing,” he answered. ”Only ask.”

”You would be capable of putting on a touch of Lord Coombe's little stiff air--if you were not so young and polite,” she said. ”It was Lord Coombe who told me about the old d.u.c.h.ess' dance--and that you tangoed or swooped--or kicked with my Robin. He said both of you did it beautifully.”

”Miss Gareth-Lawless did--at least.”

He was looking down and so did not chance to see the look of a little cat which showed itself in her quick side glance.

”She is not my Robin now. She belongs to the Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Darte--for a consideration. She is one of the new little females who are obstinately determined to earn an honest living. I haven't seen her for months--perhaps years. Is she pretty?” The last three words came out like the little cat's pounce on a mouse. Donal even felt momentarily startled.

But he remained capable of raising clear eyes to hers and saying, ”She was prettier than any one else at the d.u.c.h.ess' house that night. Far prettier.”

”Have you never seen her since?”

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