She was not satisfied, she was not happy. The eyes had lost a little of the eager, questioning softness he had noticed in the photograph in Gilbert’s room two years ago, and the mouth had acquired a little more decisiveness and an inclination toward sarcasm rather than smiles. Her whole bearing was much more assured, much more the woman of the world, the woman who has eaten of the Tree of Knowledge. But Image knew that she had not found that fruit altogether sweet. And he was profoundly sorry. He would have been sorry to have read that information on any young man or woman’s face for he always wanted the world to be a more joyful place, but he particularly liked his young hostess. He saw in Claudia the bud that has blossomed but has never been warmed by the good red sun, so that the petals at the heart are still cold and unopened. And with the kindly wisdom of his fifty-four years, Image knew that this spelt danger ahead.
They chatted on, Claudia questioning him about his wanderings abroad, until they were interrupted by one of the servants.
“The master has just rung up, madam, to say that he cannot get back this evening in time to accompany you out to Hampstead to-night, and will you please make his apologies to Mrs. Rivington.”
Claudia listened with a curious compression of her lips, like someone who listens with irritation to a too frequently told tale. Then she made a quick movement towards the door.
“I must speak to him myself. It’s too bad. Mrs. Rivington——”
Then she stopped short, as though second thoughts had put a check on her impulse. She came back to Image with a resigned shrug of her shoulders.
“It really is too bad of Gilbert. I spend half my time making apologies for him and meekly bearing the ill-temper of my hostess whose table has been disarranged.” Yet she looked anything but meek as she said it. “I am sure people will soon cease to ask us, because it _is_ annoying to have your table upset at the last minute. It would try the patience of a hostess in heaven. Mrs. Rivington will be furious. She has asked us several times and we’ve refused.... Oh, well! I must go and telephone at once. That’s the only peace-offering and oblation I can make.”
“Let me go, Claud,” said Patricia; “you can’t leave your guests, and as she is a stranger to me, her wrath will pass harmlessly over my head.”