"Oh well, never mind. ... Yes, you"re looking charming, Madeline--it"s absurd calling you Miss Irwin after knowing each other so long, isn"t it?"
She was so delighted that she almost thanked him for calling her by her Christian name.
"Do you know, Madeline," he went on, "that, at times, you"re almost a beauty."
She opened her mouth with surprise.
"_Almost._ You were one evening--I forget which evening--you had something gold in your hair, and you were quite Byzantine. And then, again, a few days after I saw you, and--er--oh well, anyhow--you always look nice."
"I suppose you mean," she murmured, feeling shy at talking so much of herself, "that most girls look best in the evening."
"There I venture to differ from you entirely. All girls, all women, look their best in the afternoon. The hat is everything. Evening dress is the most trying and unbecoming thing in the world; only the most perfect beauties, who are also very young and fresh, can stand it. The most becoming thing for a woman is either _neglige_, or a hat. You, particularly, Madeline, look your best in the afternoon."
"I wish then that I lived in that land where it is always afternoon!"
she said, laughing.
He gave his superior little smile. "The Lotus Eaters? Good. I didn"t know you cared for Tennyson."
"I don"t," she answered hastily, anxious to please.
He raised his eyebrows. "Then you should. Have you a favourite poet, Madeline?"
"Oh yes, of course--Swinburne."
She thought this a perfectly safe thing to say.
"Strong meat for babes," he of course replied, and then began to murmur to himself: "_For a day and a night love sang to us, played with us._ You think that beautiful, Madeline?"
"Oh yes. How beautifully you say it!"
He laughed. "Quoting poetry at Rumpelmeyer"s! Well, perhaps no place is quite prosaic where ..."
She looked up.
He took another tea-cake.
... "Where there"s anyone so interested, so intelligent as yourself."
He had returned to the indulgent, encouraging schoolmaster"s tone.
"Do you know In the Orchard?" he went on, and murmured: "_Ah G.o.d, ah G.o.d! that day should be so soon!_ Well! May I smoke a cigarette?"
"Oh, of _course_."
"Oh ... Madeline!"
"Yes, Mr. Denison?"
"Who is Nigel Hillier?"
"Oh, don"t you know him?"
"Of course I know him; we belong to the same club, and that sort of thing, but that doesn"t tell me who he is."
She was wondering what Rupert meant exactly by who, but supposed he was speaking socially, so she said hesitatingly:
"Well, Nigel Hillier ... he married that Miss----"
He interrupted her, putting up his hand rather like a policeman in the traffic. "I know all about his marriage, my dear friend. I didn"t ask you whom he married. Who _is_ he?"
"Bertha and Percy have known him all their lives--at least all Bertha"s life."
"Oh yes. Then he"s a friend of Percy Kellynch? But that doesn"t tell me what I want to know. WHO is he?"
With a flash of inspiration she said:
"Oh yes! Oh, he"s a _nephew_ of Lord Wantage. He has no father and mother, I believe. He and his brother Charlie----"
"Ah yes, yes. It comes back to me now--I remember which Hilliers they are. Well, Hillier has asked me to dine with him and go to the Russian Ballet. Rather nice of him. I"m going, and--do you know why I accepted, Madeline?"
"You like the Russian Ballet."
"I was told that Mrs. Kellynch and _you_ were to be of the party."
"I"m glad you"re going," she answered. "Bertha"s so awfully kind----"
She stopped suddenly, as if she had made a _gaffe_.
He smiled. "Really? And what has Bertha"s kindness to do with it?"
"Oh, nothing. I mean she always takes me out wherever she can; she"s so good-natured."
"She strikes me as being a very beautiful and brilliant person," said Rupert coldly. "Very wonderful--very delightful. ... It appears that Mrs. Hillier has influenza."
"Oh yes," said Madeline quickly--too quickly.
"You knew it? No; you thought that she probably _would_ have," said he, laughing, as he struck a match. Then he leant back, smoking, with that slow, subtle smile about nothing in particular that had a peculiar, hypnotic effect upon Madeline.
She adored him more and more every moment. She knew she was never at her best in his company; he made her nervous, shy, and schoolgirlish, and so modest that she seemed to be longing to ooze away, to eliminate herself altogether. Then he said:
"Well, Madeline, it wouldn"t be nice if I kept you too long away from your mother--she won"t trust me with you again."
She jumped up.
"Have I been too long?"
"Nonsense, child," he said. "But still----" With one look at the clock he rather hurriedly gave her her belongings.
"I"m going to put you into a nice taxi, and send you home. We shall meet at Hillier"s dinner, that will be nice, and we shall see the wonderful ballet together."