Part 20 (1/2)
”To tell a woman she is lovely is to criticise her openly to her face.
Please do not make such a careful perusal of my expression.”
”Unfortunately I am endowed with the critical faculty.”
The very intonation of Quinton's voice is a caress.
His eyes seem to reveal, as they gaze on her, their power of insight and a.n.a.lysis. Their look is appreciation, their sympathy with her every utterance boundless.
To him she is not only a character study, but a woman to love, to wors.h.i.+p, for a day, an hour.
To her he is an object of fascination, an accomplished man of the world, one who can make himself utterly irresistible by reason of his tenderness, chivalry, courtesy, and devotion.
A magnetic attraction rises between them. Eleanor forgets her surroundings. She only remembers him.
At last her eyes fall on the door, and remain transfixed in that direction.
Giddy Mounteagle, in a costume of wide black and white stripes and leopard's skin cloak, followed by her youthful _fiance_, enters the restaurant.
”Bad luck!” exclaims Eleanor, turning to Carol; ”look!”
He re-echoes her deep sigh as Giddy advances.
”I hate her seeing me here with you,” Mrs. Roche declares. ”She is a bad enemy, and now that we are hardly on speaking terms I dare not think what horrible stories she may not spread against me.”
”Why not make it up, for the sake of our friends.h.i.+p, Eleanor? She could often help us to meet, you know.”
”Never, after the way she treated me!” declares Mrs. Roche, drawing herself up as Mrs. Mounteagle approaches.
”Hulloa! _you_ here?” she cries in a rather bantering, insolent tone, and raising her finely pencilled eyebrows till they are lost to view under her fringe. She pats Carol playfully on the shoulder, pretending not to notice the stiffness of Eleanor's bow.
Bertie shakes hands with Mrs. Roche, and they seat themselves at the next table.
Eleanor turns her back, and becomes deeply interested in what Carol is telling her. They talk loudly on politics for Giddy's benefit.
”How spiteful she looked,” whispers Eleanor at last.
”Oh, I don't know. You see you gave her the cold shoulder a bit.”
”Do you think she noticed it?”
”Rather. She is as sharp as a needle.”
”I think her hat is atrocious. It makes me tremble when I remember how I relied on her taste. Those enormous black and white feathers, pinned in crazy fas.h.i.+on with paste brooches, are horribly vulgar.”
”Do you see that red-headed man just coming in?” says Carol.
”Yes. Who is he?”
”Eccott--a tremendously wealthy man, and a great financier. I expect your husband knows him.”