At this point an overwhelming sense of pity surged into the breast of Campaspe Lorillard. She turned away from Laura.
Isabel, she broke in, will you introduce me to Mr. Johns?
His eyes thanked her and then travelled caressingly down her rose and grey splendour until they met her satined feet. At the same time she took him in: thick, white hair, an interesting and sympathetic expression, behind which lurked a suggestion of bitterness and even cruelty.
My wife, Mrs. Lorillard, he explained, rather than introduced, a little woman in blue beside him whom Campaspe noticed for the first time. She had the air of a person eager to run errands, desirous only of serving as a buffer between her handsome and talented husband and the aggressive world.
I think you need a drink. Campaspe smiled at him.
Do you know where there is one?
In the lib—Mrs. Pollanger began to recite.
Excuse us, then, for a moment. They spoke in unison.
Mrs. Pollanger waved her fan. Come back, you clever man and tell me all about your new book!
What a woman! Gareth exclaimed. She looks like a footbath on wheels. Did you see all those diamonds on her . . . ? As though Queen Mary had belted the gas-works with her royal stomacher!
In the corridor stood the singer of La Chevelure,
