either of her parents. Her movements were graceful but unconsidered, almost like a challenge: “Here am I, whether you like the effect or you don’t.” Mannering did. She looked mutinous, he thought. Her chin was firm, square, and like a man’s.
“She’s at war with the world,” Mannering told himself, “and that means she’s unhappy, which suggests an
“He’s cynical,” Lorna thought, “and I hate cynical men. He’s handsome, and I dislike handsome men. He’s clever, and knows it, and clever men are detestable. Why do I like him?”
“The most distinguished man I’ve ever seen,” thought Lady Fauntley. “So tall and strong, so reserved.
Mannering smiled and tried it.
“It is,” he acknowledged. “Delightful.”
“Wait till you try the Cockburn 1900,” said Fauntley. “A wine with body in it, real body!”
Mannering felt the girl’s eyes on him suddenly — smiling eyes. His own twinkled. Yes, he liked her. He told himself that he must spend an hour looking up the record of her painting. She had a reputation for strong work in the old style, despite her modern tendencies in everything but art. It would be strong work, of course. Everything about her suggested power.
“I hear you had a wonderful day,” said Lady Fauntley.
“Fair,” said Mannering, smiling secretly. More than ever he realised the good effect his reputation was creating. No one, not even his closest friends, had any idea that he was so low in money.
He quizzed his hostess for a moment, staring at the Liska diamond in her corsage, and noticing the reddening of her skin under his gaze.
“That’s a wonderful stone, Lady Fauntley,” he said at length.
“Recognised it, eh?” chuckled Fauntley. “I wondered whether you would. Old Rawson is cursing himself for letting it go, I’ll bet.”
“Are you interested in precious stones ?” asked Lorna.
Lady Fauntley noticed the sparkle in her daughter’s eyes, and was apprehensive. Lorna did say such dreadful things on occasions.
“Always, when they become their wearers,” said Mannering.
He was sorry, a moment later. The triteness of the words brought a flicker of amusement to Lorna’s eyes. There was something scornful about her expression.
“Almost like pressing button B, wasn’t it?” she said mockingly.
“Oh, my dear!” thought Lady Fauntley miserably.
“Darned little idiot!” stormed her husband inwardly, stabbing viciously at his fish.
Mannering laughed, and was glad of the answering laughter in the girl’s eyes.
“It doesn’t always follow,” said Lorna.
“Careful girl, careful,” muttered Fauntley to himself. He lived in perpetual fear of the offence Lorna would give to his many visitors. Lorna spoke her mind too much, and, to make things worse, had a mind to speak.
“So
“I
Mannering chuckled to himself.
“The Liska’s only one of many of yours, Isn’t it?” he asked, playing with a spoon. “I’ve heard rumours that your collection is unrivalled.”
“Only rumours ?” Fauntley chuckled, in rare good-humour. “It’s the truth, Mannering, take it from me. Like to see them ?”
“After dinner, dear,” said Lady Fauntley.
“Of course, of course.”
“Thanks,” said Mannering. His eyes challenged Lorna’s. She was dressed in a black Schiaparelli gown, gathered at the corsage with a single diamond clip, but otherwise she was innocent of jewels. The gleaming white satin of her skin needed none. “You don’t like gems ?” he asked her.
“A Roland for my Oliver,” thought Lorna. Aloud: “Not so much as I’m supposed to,” she admitted.
“But you’re free to choose,” said Mannering.
“Everything’s a darned sight too free-and-easy over here,” broke in Fauntley, whose recent political activities tempted him to mount the platform at the slightest opportunity. “Going to the dogs, that’s what I think, Mannering, and . . .”
“Do try that
Mannering smiled, and the imps of laughter in Lorna’s eyes matched his.
The meal passed as pleasantly as it had begun, and Mannering told himself that Lady Fauntley, passive as she
