Foreigners, making experiments, and not averse to garlic, discovered the finest sausages of Germany and Italy transformed into English sandwiches. Anchovies and sardines appealed, in the same unexpected way, to men who desired to create an artificial thirst--after having first ascertained that the champagne was something to be fondly remembered and regretted, at other parties, to the end of the season. The hospitable profusion of the refreshments was all-pervading and inexhaustible. Wherever the guests might be, or however they were amusing themselves, there were the pretty little white plates perpetually tempting them. People eat as they had never eat before, and even the inveterate English prejudice against anything new was conquered at last. Universal opinion declared the Sandwich Dance to be an admirable idea, perfectly carried out.
Many of the guests paid their hostess the compliment of arriving at the early hour mentioned in the invitations. One of them was Major Hynd. Lady Loring took her first opportunity of speaking to him apart.
"I hear you were a little angry," she said, "when you were told that Miss Eyrecourt had taken your inquiries out of your hands."
"I thought it rather a bold proceeding, Lady Loring," the Major replied. "But as the General's widow turned out to be a lady, in the best sense of the word, Miss Eyrecourt's romantic adventure has justified itself. I wouldn't recommend her to run the same risk a second time."
"I suppos e you know what Romayne thinks of it?"
"Not yet. I have been too busy to call on him since I have been in town. Pardon me, Lady Loring, who is that beautiful creature in the pale yellow dress? Surely I have seen her somewhere before?"
"That beautiful creature, Major, is the bold young lady of whose conduct you don't approve."
"Miss Eyrecourt?"
"Yes."
"I retract everything I said!" cried the Major, quite shamelessly. "Such a woman as that may do anything. She is looking this way. Pray introduce me."
The Major was introduced, and Lady Loring returned to her guests.
"I think we have met before, Major Hynd," said Stella.
Her voice supplied the missing link in the Major's memory of events. Remembering how she had looked at Romayne on the deck of the steamboat, he began dimly to understand Miss Eyrecourt's otherwise incomprehensible anxiety to be of use to the General's family. "I remember perfectly," he answered. "It was on the passage from Boulogne to Folkestone--and my friend was with me. You and he have no doubt met since that time?" He put the question as a mere formality. The unexpressed thought in him was, "Another of them in love with Romayne! and nothing, as usual, likely to come of it."
"I hope you have forgiven me for going to Camp's Hill in your place," said Stella.
"I ought to be grateful to you," the Major rejoined. "No time has been lost in relieving these poor people--and your powers of persuasion have succeeded, where mine might have failed. Has Romayne been to see them himself since his return to London?"
"No. He desires to remain unknown; and he is kindly content, for the present, to be represented by me."
"For the present." Major Hynd repeated.
A faint flush passed over her delicate complexion. "I have succeeded," she resumed, "in inducing Madame Marillac to accept the help offered through me to her son. The poor creature is safe, under kind superintendence, in a private asylum. So far, I can do no more."
"Will the mother accept nothing?"
"Nothing, either for herself or her daughter, so long as they can work. I cannot tell you how patiently and beautifully she speaks of her hard lot. But her health may give way--and it is possible, before long, that I may leave London." She paused; the flush deepened on her face. "The failure of the mother's health may happen in my absence," she continued; "and Mr. Romayne will ask you to look after the family, from time to time, while I am away."
"I will do it with pleasure, Miss Eyrecourt. Is Romayne likely to be here to-night?"
She smiled brightly, and looked away. The Major's curiosity was excited--he looked in the same direction. There was Romayne, entering the room, to answer for himself.
What was the attraction which drew the unsocial student to an evening party? Major Hynd's eyes were on the watch. When Romayne and Stella shook hands, the attraction stood self-revealed to him, in Miss Eyrecourt. Recalling the momentary confusion which she had betrayed, when she spoke of possibly leaving London, and of Romayne's plans for supplying her place as his almoner, the Major, with military impatience of delays, jumped to a conclusion. "I was wrong," he thought; "my impenetrable friend is touched in the right place at last. When the splendid creature in yellow leaves London, the name on her luggage will be Mrs. Romayne."
"You are looking quite another man, Romayne!" he said mischievously, "since we met last."
Stella gently moved away, leaving them to talk freely. Romayne took no advantage of the circumstance to admit his old friend to his confidence. Whatever relations might really exist between Miss Eyrecourt and himself were evidently kept secret thus far. "My health has been a little better lately," was the only reply he made.
The Major dropped his voice to a whisper.
"Have you not had any return--?" he began.
Romayne stopped him there. "I don't want my infirmities made public," he whispered back irritably. "Look at the people all round us! When I tell you I have been better lately, you ought to know what it means."
"Any discoverable reason for the improvement?" persisted the Major, still bent on getting evidence in support of his own private conclusions.
"None!" Romayne answered sharply.
But Major Hynd was not to be discouraged by sharp replies. "Miss Eyrecourt and I have been recalling our first meeting on board the steamboat," he went on. "Do you remember how indifferent you were to that beautiful person when I asked you if you knew her? I'm glad to see that you show better taste to-night. I wish I knew her well enough to shake hands as you did."
"Hynd! When a young man talks nonsense, his youth is his excuse. At your time of life, you have passed the excusable age--even in the estimation of your friends."
With those words Romayne turned away. The incorrigible Major instantly met the reproof inflicted on him with a smart answer. "Remember," he said, "that I was the first of your friends to wish you happiness!" He, too, turned away--in the direction of the champagne and the sandwiches.
Meanwhile, Stella had discovered Penrose, lost in the brilliant assemblage of guests, standing alone in a corner. It was enough for her that Romayne's secretary was also Romayne's friend. Passing by titled and celebrated personages, all anxious to speak to her, she joined the shy, nervous, sad-looking little man, and did all she could to set him at his ease.
"I am afraid, Mr. Penrose, this is not a very attractive scene to you." Having said those kind words, she paused.