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Indeed, the electric-light smile was being turned on and off in the box opposite with unmistakable intention, and, glancing across, Craven noticed that the young men had disappeared, no doubt to smoke cigarettes in the foyer. Lady Wrackley and Mrs. Ackroyde were alone, and, seeing them alone, it was easier to Craven to compare their appearance with Lady Sellingworth's.
Arabian was a man who could wait but not for ever. She still seemed to feel the pulse beating in his warm hand as she drove through the rain and the darkness. Mrs. Ackroyde had a pretty little house in Upper Grosvenor Street, but she spent a good deal of her time in a country house which she had bought at Coombe close to London.
Evidently, despite his knowledge of life, his Foreign Office training, his experience of war he had been a soldier for two years he was really something of a simpleton. He had "given himself away" in Braybrooke, and probably to others as well, to Lady Wrackley, Mrs. Ackroyde, and perhaps even to Miss Van Tuyn. And to Lady Sellingworth! What had she thought of him? What did she think of him?
Meanwhile Lady Sellingworth went out into the corridor with Braybrooke to "get a little air." While Mrs. Ackroyde talked Craven felt that she was thinking about him with an enormously experienced mind. She had been married twice, and was now a widow. No woman knew more about life and the world in a general way than she did.
Lady Wrackley looked shiningly artificial, seemed to glisten with artificiality, and her certainly remarkable figure suggested to him an advertisement for a corset designed by a genius with a view to the concealment of fat. Mrs. Ackroyde was far less artificial, and though her hair was dyed it did not proclaim the fact blatantly.
"She will be much more foolish now if she really begins again," said Mrs. Ackroyde in her cool, common-sense way. The young men were talking, and after a moment she continued: "When a thing's once been thoroughly seen by everyone and recognized for what it is, it is worse than useless to hide it or try to hide it. Adela should know that. But I must say she looked remarkably well to-night for her.
Craven could not imagine how the "old guard" had come already to know of his new friendship with Lady Sellingworth. But he was now quite sure that he had been talked about, and that Mrs. Ackroyde was considering him, his temperament, his character, his possibilities in connexion with the famous Adela, once of the "old guard," but long since traitress to it.
"What, the whole regiment?" said Craven. She sat down on a sofa by a basket of roses. He sat down near her. "No; only two or three of the leaders." "Do I know them?" "Probably. Mrs. Ackroyde?" "I know her." "Lady Archie Brook?" "Her, too." "I've also seen Lady Wrackley." "I have met Lady Wrackley, but I can hardly say I know her.
She did not want to see a nice and interesting boy make a fool of himself. Yet Craven was on the verge of doing that, if he had not already done it. Lady Wrackley and Mrs. Ackroyde had seen how things were, had taken in the whole situation in a moment. Miss Van Tuyn knew that, and in her knowledge there was bitterness.
She began to feel terribly out of place in this company, but she knew that she did not look out of place. She had long ago mastered the art of appearance, and could never forget that cunning. And she gossiped gaily with the Baron until luncheon at last was over. As she went towards the drawing-room Mrs. Ackroyde joined her. "You were rather unkind to Alick Craven, Adela," she murmured.
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