paid it fully. For the first time in his experience of her Mrs. Talmage Eglinton changed color and seemed at a loss for words. He helped her out, and himself too, with the same old lie, and his manner was perfect—just that of the simple old soldier:
“The Duke dotes on Americans, don’t you know. Says he was introduced to you by my nephew outside Beaumanoir House the day he landed, and when it came out in conversation that we knew you, he insisted on your being asked. Thought it would please Alec, don’t you know.”
The last sentence was spoken carelessly, as though it was an afterthought, but it had an effect that all the skill at Mrs. Talmage Eglinton’s disposal could not hide—an effect transient only, but so marked that the three other women in the room, coldly hostile as they were, did not fail to note it. The flush which had tinged her cheek on hearing of the invitation deepened, and a softer light gleamed for a moment in her fine eyes.
But whether the General’s explanation was deemed adequate, or whether she intended to accept the invitation, there was no present means of knowing. For the sedate calm of
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