The Twelfth Hour Part 35

"Why, naturally, they enjoy it. Mustn't they get frightfully bored, poor things, with talking all the time about other people, and be only too thankful and delighted to be allowed to talk about themselves a little?

Fancy how refres.h.i.+ng it must be; what a relief! Think of the tedium of always bothering about perfect strangers--pretending to care about their luck and their love affairs, their fortunes and their failures, and all their silly little private affairs. It must be absolutely fascinating for them to meet a person so interested in other people as Bertie."

"Perhaps he only does it out of kindness," said Vera. "I shouldn't wonder. Asks them questions and shows interest just to please them."

"Well, I call it infernal cheek," said Bob resentfully.

"Not at all. Some people aren't always absorbed in themselves," said Vera, with a reproachful look as she gave Bob a cup of tea.

At this moment Sylvia was announced. She looked very happy and excited.

"I hope I'm not too late. I only want to ask Madame Zero _one_ question. I shan't be a moment."

"Of course you shall, dear, and I know you won't keep her long, as she'll be very tired now after seeing us all. Now, Sylvia"--Vera turned to Felicity--"is unusual. She's neither curious about other people nor intensely interested in herself."

"I don't mind how interested people are in themselves, so long as they're interesting people," said Felicity.

"Do you call it taking too much interest in oneself to want to back a winner just once--for a change? I had tips straight from the stable about three horses yesterday, at Haydock Park. And I give you my word, Lady Chetwode, they all went down."

"Dead certainties never seem to do anything else," Felicity answered.

"Mind you, it was partly my own fault," continued Bob. "If I'd had the sense to back Little Lady for the Warrington Handicap Hurdle Race--as any chap in his senses would have done after her out-jumping the favourite and securing a lead at the final obstacle in the Stayer Steeplechase, I should have got home on the day--or at any rate on the week. But then, you see, I'd seen her twice refuse at the water--and I was a bit too cautious, I suppose!"

"You generally are," murmured Vera, but he did not hear, having sunk into a racing reverie.

Bertie appeared through the curtains.

"I congratulate you, Mrs. Ogilvie. Your soothsayer is a marvel."

"Isn't she!" triumphantly said his hostess.

"It's the most extraordinary thing I ever came across in my life. She simply took my breath away. Yes, tea, please. She's a genius."

"Does she seem very exhausted? Or do you think Sylvia might just ask her one question?"

"Oh, surely--Miss Sylvia's so reposeful," said Bertie. "I fancy I could answer the one question myself," he added in a low voice to Sylvia, as he held the curtains back for her to pa.s.s.

"She's been a success with you, I see," said Felicity.

"She has, indeed! She got right there every time--as she would say herself in her quaint Eastern phraseology. She has one of the most remarkable personalities I ever met. No one would believe what that girl has gone through in her life--and she's been so brave and plucky through it all! Did you notice what remarkable hands she has?"

"I told you so," laughed Felicity. "She's been confiding in Bertie and he's told _her_ fortune! I knew it."

Bertie coloured slightly as he ate a pink cake.

"Shouldn't have thought that of her," grumbled Bob. "She seemed a sensible sort of girl."

"My dear Henderson, don't be absurd. After her wonderful divination about me, of course I couldn't help asking her a few questions as to how she developed the gift--and so on--and she told me the most amazing things."

"She would, I'm sure," said Vera sympathetically. "I wonder if she'll tell Sylvia anything about what Mr. Ridokanaki is doing."

"Oh, I can tell you all about him," said Bertie readily. "He's having a very good time in Paris just now. I hear he's always about with the Beaugardes. Miss Beaugarde's a very pretty girl just out of her convent.

Her mother's working it for all she's worth. Clever woman. I shouldn't be surprised if it came off, if Madame Beaugarde can make him believe the girl's in love with him for himself."

"You see we really need no sibyls and soothsayers when we have Bertie,"

said Felicity. "To know him really is a liberal education. He knows everything."

"Sort of walking _Harmsworth's Self-educator_," said Bob rather bitterly, as he took his hat.

Sylvia returned, evidently content. She told Felicity afterwards that Madame Zero had seen her in the crystal in a large building of a sacred character, dressed all in white and holding a bouquet. The sound of the chanting of sweet boys' voices was in the air. What could it possibly mean?

Whether or not Madame Zero had demonstrated her gifts so convincingly as to have converted a sceptic, there was no doubt that she had perceptibly raised the spirits of the whole party (not excluding her own), so the seance was quite deservedly p.r.o.nounced an immense success.

CHAPTER XXI

"THE OTHER GIRL"

Savile had received a note from Dolly, asking him to go and see her in the square. Savile was feeling rather sore because Dolly and her French friends had gone to a fancy ball the night before, a kind of semi-juvenile party where all the children wore powdered hair. Dolly had offered to get him an invitation, but he scornfully refused, knowing she was going to dance the cotillon with Robert de Saules.

So depressed had he seemed that evening that Sylvia had played "Home, Sweet Home" to him five or six times. It made him miserable, which he thoroughly enjoyed, and he was feeling altogether rather cynical and bitter when he got Dolly's little note. He had heard nothing more of Chetwode, and intended to see Jasmyn Vere before he left; there was only another week before the end of his holidays. Should he be cool to Dolly?

or not let her know how he felt about the fancy ball?

As soon as he arrived he thought she looked different. The powder had been imperfectly brushed out of her hair; also she had been crying. She greeted him very gently. She wore a pretty white dress and a pale blue sash.

"I suppose you've been very happy these holidays?" said Dolly.

"Oh, I don't know! I've had a great deal to--to see to," said Savile.

"I suppose you see a great deal of The Other Girl?" said Dolly.

Considering that he had only been once to Wales to hear his idol sing at a concert, there was a certain satisfaction in giving Dolly to understand that he hadn't really had half a bad time; so he smiled and didn't answer.

"Is she grown up?" asked Dolly.

Savile was cautiously reserved on the subject, but seemed to think he might go so far as to say she _was_ grown up.

"Did you have fun last night?" he then asked.

"No. I was simply miserable."

"Why?"

"I kept the cotillon for Robert, though he hadn't exactly asked for it, and when the time came the girl of the house, who is eighteen, actually danced it with him!"