“It will be a mob this afternoon, and no mistake,” said Major Druce, as side by side, they entered the house. “Do you hear that fizzing and clucking just behind us? That’s Arabic; you’ll get it in whiffs between gusts of French and German all the afternoon. The Egyptian contingent seems to be in full force today. I don’t see any Choctaw Indians, but no doubt they’ll send their representatives later on. Come in at this side door, and we’ll work our way round to that big palm. My mother is sure to be at the principal doorway.”
The drawing rooms were packed from end to end, and Major Druce’s progress, as he headed Loveday through the crowd, was impeded by handshaking and the interchange of civilities with his mother’s guests.
Eventually the big palm standing in a Chinese cistern was reached, and there, half screened from view by its graceful branches, he placed a chair for Miss Brooke.
From this quiet nook, as now and again the crowd parted, Loveday could command a fair view of both drawing-rooms.
“Don’t attract attention to me by standing at my elbow,” she whispered to the Major.
He answered her whisper with another.
“There’s the Beast—Iago, I mean,” he said; “do you see him? He’s standing talking to that fair, handsome woman in pale green, with a picture hat. She’s Lady Gwynne. And there’s my mother, and there’s Dolly—the Princess I mean—alone on the sofa. Ah! you can’t see her now for the crowd. Yes, I’ll go, but if you want me, just nod to me and I shall understand.”
If was easy to see what had brought such a fashionable crowd to Mrs. Druce’s rooms that afternoon. Every caller, as soon as she had shaken hands with the hostess, passed on to the Princess’s sofa, and there waited patiently till opportunity presented itself for an introduction to her Eastern Highness.
Loveday found it impossible to get more than the merest glimpse of her, and so transferred her attention to Mr. Hafiz Cassimi, who had been referred to in such unceremonious language by Major Druce.
He was a swarthy, well-featured man, with bold, black eyes, and lips that had the habit of parting now and again, not to smile, but as if for no other purpose than to show a double row of gleaming white teeth. The European dress he wore seemed to accord ill with the man; and Loveday could fancy that those black eyes and that double row of white teeth would have shown to better advantage beneath a turban or a fez cap. From Cassimi, her eye wandered to Mrs. Druce—a tall, stout woman, dressed in black velvet, and with hair mounted high on her head, that had the appearance of being either bleached or powdered. She gave Loveday the impression of being that essentially modern product of modern society—the woman who combines in one person the hardworking philanthropist with the hardworking woman of fashion. As arrivals began to slacken, she left her post near the door and began to make the round of the room. From snatches of talk that came to her where she sat, Loveday could gather that with one hand, as it were, this energetic lady was organizing a grand charity concert, and with the other pushing the interests of a big ball that was shortly to be given by the officers of her son’s regiment.
It was a hot June day. In spite of closed blinds and open windows, the rooms were stifling to a degree. The butler, a small dark, slight Frenchman, made his way through the throng to a window at Loveday’s right hand, to see if a little more air could be admitted.
Major Druce followed on his heels to Loveday’s side.
“Will you come into the next room and have some tea?” he asked; “I’m sure you must feel nearly suffocated here.” He broke off, then added in a lower tone: “I hope you have kept your eyes on the Beast. Did you ever in your life see a more repulsive-looking animal?”
Loveday took his questions in their order.
“No tea, thank you,” she said, “but I shall be glad if you will tell your butler to bring me a glass of water—there he is, at your elbow. Yes, off and on I have been studying Mr. Cassimi, and I must admit I do not like his smileless smile.”
The butler brought the water. The Major, much to his annoyance, was seized upon simultaneously by two ladies, one eager to know if any tidings had been received of Mdlle. Cunier, the other anxious to learn if a distinguished president to the Harem Mission had been decided upon.
Soon after six the rooms began to thin somewhat, and presentations to the Princess ceasing, Loveday was able to get a full view of her.
She presented a striking picture, seated, half-reclining, on a sofa, with two white-robed, dark-skinned Egyptian maidens standing behind it. A more unfortunate sobriquet than “Dolly” could scarcely have been found by the Major for this Oriental beauty, with her olive complexion, her flashing eyes and extravagant richness of attire.
“ ‘Queen of Sheba’ would be far more appropriate,” thought Loveday. “She turns the commonplace sofa into a throne, and, I should say, makes every one of those ladies feel as if she ought to have donned court dress and plumes for the occasion.”
It was difficult for her, from where she sat, to follow the details of the Princess’s dress. She could only see that a quantity of soft orange-tinted silk was wound about the upper part of her arms and fell from her shoulders like drooping wings, and that here and there jewels flashed out from its folds. Her thick black hair was loosely knotted, and kept in its place
