“Here, we are in Portland place,” interrupted Loveday. “Mrs. Druce’s rooms are already full, to judge from that long line of carriages!”
“Miss Brooke,” said the Major suddenly, bethinking himself of his responsibilities, “how am I to introduce you? what rôle will you take up this afternoon? Pose as a faddist of some sort, if you want to win my mother’s heart. What do you say to having started a grand scheme for supplying Hottentots and Kaffirs with eye-glasses? My mother would swear eternal friendship with you at once.”
“Don’t introduce me at all at first,” answered Loveday. “Get me into some quiet corner, where I can see without being seen. Later on in the afternoon, when I have had time to look round a little, I’ll tell you whether it will be necessary to introduce me or not.”
“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 to-day. 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 hand-shaking 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 hard-working philanthropist with the hard-working 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.