Part 16 (2/2)

Lady MacDonald follows her example, her jingling chatelaine clanks irritatingly, as if protesting at being found in such company.

She draws on a light kid glove, proffering Eleanor her finger-tips.

”_Good_-bye, Mrs. Roche,” she drawls. ”I have so enjoyed a peep at your little _coterie_ to-day, but we really _must_ not intrude ourselves upon you longer, you will have so many _home_ topics to discuss.”

Mrs. Mounteagle refrains from her customary caress, whereat Eleanor remarks:

”How pale you look, Giddy! Are you ill?”

”Yes,” she replies, under her breath, ”I have over-eaten myself--overdone with APPLES!”

CHAPTER IX.

HEART SICK AND WEARY WITH THE JOURNEY'S FRET.

”You must _not_ go to-day,” declares Eleanor emphatically, addressing her parents. ”I want to take you to Mrs. Mounteagle's party this afternoon. I am sure she won't mind, we are such _great_ friends, and two more will make no difference in a tea and coffee, four-to-seven squash.”

”Is it a real grand party?” asks Mrs. Grebby.

”Oh, yes; no end of people have been invited, and Giddy's affairs are always so _chic_--that meaning stylish, smart--all sorts of grand dresses and bonnets.”

Mrs. Grebby gasps in wonderment. ”I will lend you two jewelled pins for your head gear, Ma--one of turquoise and another in the shape of an olive--that Philip bought abroad, and declares is only paste.”

”Well, we _shall_ be swells,” says Mr. Grebby, grinning, ”and my word, what a lot we'll have to talk about when we gets 'ome.”

”There,” says Eleanor, shutting down an envelope and ringing for Sarah, ”I have written the note to Giddy.”

She whistles Rover through the window, who is scratching up the lawn, with splendid energy.

He bounds in and leaps on the sofa. Eleanor proceeds to scratch his back comfortingly with a little ivory hand on the end of a long horn stick. Then she calls for a comb, which Sarah produces, and fluffs at his coa.r.s.e hair, which is stiff, wiry, and grey.

”Mrs. Mounteagle has called to see you,” says a voice in the doorway, when Rover's toilet (which has occupied a full half-hour) is eventually completed.

”Oh! show her in.”

”But,” with a glance at Mr. and Mrs. Grebby, ”if you please, ma'am, she asked to speak to you alone.”

Eleanor closes the folding doors between her boudoir and the library.

”_You_ stay here, darlings,” she says in a soft, cooing voice, ”and I will see Giddy in the next room. Come on, Rover--down, old boy--your wet paws have done damage enough to my gown for one morning.”

Still whistling, Eleanor saunters into Giddy's presence, her eyes as radiant as stars, her lips parted in joyous greeting.

”You dear thing,” she cries, ”to come and see me, when you must be so busy, pinning bits of drapery over your doors, and heaping flowers into enormous vases. Can I come in and help? I am splendid at decorations, you know,” remembering Giddy's cynical remarks on her artistic efforts, and laughing merrily.

”No, dear, all is prepared,” speaking in funeral tones. ”_But_----”

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