lit lobby into the lounge.
Nothing happened at all. She sat down and beckoned to a waiter and primly ordered a sherry. Then she eased the coat off her shoulders and looked about her. The guests were the conventional tourist type. Most of them were sunburnt and peeling. There was some loud chatter about strained muscles and ice crevasses and scree slopes. One or two of the younger men glanced towards her curiously, thinking her a new arrival. The lounge was large and raftered, with a huge fireplace, and decorated with pictures of mountain peaks and bowls of immense raupo heads and toi-toi plumes. Alice could hear the harsh impatient screech of the keas outside. It was beginning to rain again, too, the thin mist of it webbing against the wall of bush. But in here all was warmth and cheer and light-heartedness.
Then Dundas and Margaretta came in. Margaretta came through the door first, but immediately she slipped behind her father as if trying to efface herself as she crossed the room. She was a tall girl, with strong well-formed limbs. When she learned to walk with grace and confidence she might almost, in spite of her heavy brows and sullen jaw, be handsome. Alice wondered if it was from a desire to look smaller and slimmer that Margaretta wore clothes too small for her. Tonight she had on a brown velvet that might have been her party dress two years ago. Her hair was done in two thick plaits and pinned round her head. She was a curious mixture of child and grown-up. She looked intensely unhappy, so unhappy that something must have happened very recently to cause it.
Looking for somewhere to sit, Dundas suddenly saw her and his face lighted with pleasure.
‘Miss Ashton! I was going to suggest this, but I was afraid you might think it presumptuous.’
Dundas, with his over-polite language that somehow was out of tune with his broad shoulders and thick-set body, and with his dowdy young daughter.
‘Oh, I shouldn’t have thought that,’ Alice answered. ‘Hullo, Margaretta. Are you going to sit with me?’
‘If we may,’ said Dundas with alacrity. ‘What are you drinking? Let’s have another.’
Alice unostentatiously pulled the coat out of the way and patted the couch for Margaretta to sit down.
The girl did so, and Dundas beckoned a waiter.
‘Is yours sherry, Miss Ashton? Three sherries, please. We’ll be grown-up tonight, eh, Margaretta?’
Alice said, ‘Oh, doesn’t Margaretta usually have sherry?’
‘Well—she’s never particularly wanted it. Have you, dear? Actually she’s young for her age, for which I am very glad. I have no wish to lose her for a long time.’ He laid his hand affectionately on his daughter’s shoulder. ‘It astonished me when she had a young swain who wanted her to go dancing tonight.’
‘Why didn’t you go?’ Alice asked Margaretta.
The waiter had come with the drinks, and while Dundas was paying, for them Margaretta said violently, under her breath, ‘How could I, with nothing to wear?’
But the next moment she was taking the glass of sherry from her father and looking her usual silent self.
Before Alice could make any further comment there was a stir at the door and every head in the lounge was turned to see Katherine Thorpe in a dark red dress followed by a very tall man come in. Alice realized that Katherine would cause this stir of interest wherever she went. Unlike poor Margaretta, whose father obviously didn’t want her to grow up, Katherine was dressed like a treasured woman. The man behind her was handsome in a dark medieval way, his face narrow and pale, his expression sombre. Alice remembered Camilla’s excited notes— like Rudolph Valentino —and understood what she meant. It was indeed remarkable that neither Dalton nor his sister had married.
She leaned forward impulsively to Dundas.
‘I’ve met Miss Thorpe, but I’d like to meet her brother. Will you introduce me?’
‘Certainly,’ said Dundas in his polite way.
He crossed the lounge
Nothing happened at all. She sat down and beckoned to a waiter and primly ordered a sherry. Then she eased the coat off her shoulders and looked about her. The guests were the conventional tourist type. Most of them were sunburnt and peeling. There was some loud chatter about strained muscles and ice crevasses and scree slopes. One or two of the younger men glanced towards her curiously, thinking her a new arrival. The lounge was large and raftered, with a huge fireplace, and decorated with pictures of mountain peaks and bowls of immense raupo heads and toi-toi plumes. Alice could hear the harsh impatient screech of the keas outside. It was beginning to rain again, too, the thin mist of it webbing against the wall of bush. But in here all was warmth and cheer and light-heartedness.
Then Dundas and Margaretta came in. Margaretta came through the door first, but immediately she slipped behind her father as if trying to efface herself as she crossed the room. She was a tall girl, with strong well-formed limbs. When she learned to walk with grace and confidence she might almost, in spite of her heavy brows and sullen jaw, be handsome. Alice wondered if it was from a desire to look smaller and slimmer that Margaretta wore clothes too small for her. Tonight she had on a brown velvet that might have been her party dress two years ago. Her hair was done in two thick plaits and pinned round her head. She was a curious mixture of child and grown-up. She looked intensely unhappy, so unhappy that something must have happened very recently to cause it.
Looking for somewhere to sit, Dundas suddenly saw her and his face lighted with pleasure.
‘Miss Ashton! I was going to suggest this, but I was afraid you might think it presumptuous.’
Dundas, with his over-polite language that somehow was out of tune with his broad shoulders and thick-set body, and with his dowdy young daughter.
‘Oh, I shouldn’t have thought that,’ Alice answered. ‘Hullo, Margaretta. Are you going to sit with me?’
‘If we may,’ said Dundas with alacrity. ‘What are you drinking? Let’s have another.’
Alice unostentatiously pulled the coat out of the way and patted the couch for Margaretta to sit down.
The girl did so, and Dundas beckoned a waiter.
‘Is yours sherry, Miss Ashton? Three sherries, please. We’ll be grown-up tonight, eh, Margaretta?’
Alice said, ‘Oh, doesn’t Margaretta usually have sherry?’
‘Well—she’s never particularly wanted it. Have you, dear? Actually she’s young for her age, for which I am very glad. I have no wish to lose her for a long time.’ He laid his hand affectionately on his daughter’s shoulder. ‘It astonished me when she had a young swain who wanted her to go dancing tonight.’
‘Why didn’t you go?’ Alice asked Margaretta.
The waiter had come with the drinks, and while Dundas was paying, for them Margaretta said violently, under her breath, ‘How could I, with nothing to wear?’
But the next moment she was taking the glass of sherry from her father and looking her usual silent self.
Before Alice could make any further comment there was a stir at the door and every head in the lounge was turned to see Katherine Thorpe in a dark red dress followed by a very tall man come in. Alice realized that Katherine would cause this stir of interest wherever she went. Unlike poor Margaretta, whose father obviously didn’t want her to grow up, Katherine was dressed like a treasured woman. The man behind her was handsome in a dark medieval way, his face narrow and pale, his expression sombre. Alice remembered Camilla’s excited notes— like Rudolph Valentino —and understood what she meant. It was indeed remarkable that neither Dalton nor his sister had married.
She leaned forward impulsively to Dundas.
‘I’ve met Miss Thorpe, but I’d like to meet her brother. Will you introduce me?’
‘Certainly,’ said Dundas in his polite way.
He crossed the lounge
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