Four Strange Women by E.R. Punshon Page A

intelligence and alertness of mind most of the others seemed to possess. At any rate she remained quite placid, showed considerable interest in her food, now and again gave a gentle smile round the table, and occasionally lapsed into contemplation of her ring. Half way through the meal Colonel Glynne made some comment on it, and Lady May held up her hand for all to admire.
    â€œIsn’t it marvellous?” she said. “I daren’t tell you how much I gave for it, only it was less than half what it cost because it’s such a perfect model. It’s an exact reproduction of the Blue John diamond they couldn’t sell the other day. No one offered the reserve. Highams made it to show at the Paris Fine Arts Exhibition because they didn’t want to risk sending the real thing.”
    â€œIt looks awfully genuine,” said Becky, speaking almost for the first time, and Bobby thought so, too, and shared the doubt Becky had made little effort to keep from her voice.
    â€œI had to give nearly all I’m getting for being photographed holding a glass of Neo-champagne (British make),” Lady May explained. “Isn’t it awful? Neo-champagne, I mean. I don’t know how people can. But they write marvellous cheques.”
    â€œI wish you wouldn’t do that sort of thing,” growled Len.
    â€œWhy not, darling?” inquired Lady May, to whom all the world was darling. “If people are such sillies and drink the awful stuff because they think I do, I think it serves them right. Don’t you, Mr. Owen?”
    Bobby, thus suddenly appealed to, choked and stammered out something to the effect that it was only natural for all to follow where Lady May Grayson led, which earned him, from Lady May, one of those famous smiles, of which it has been so rudely said that she always kept them on tap; from Len, a formidable scowl; and a strong mental impression of his own that every one else thought it awful cheek for him to have said anything at all. Fortunately Becky relieved his embarrassment by remarking that most people would have thought it was the genuine Blue John, but no doubt Len, as an expert, would have been able to tell at once it was only a sham.
    â€œI’m not an expert,” growled Len very angrily.
    â€œYou spotted old Lady Train was wearing artificial pearls anyhow,” Becky pointed out. “Cost you an invite to the Train shoot, too,” she added, not without satisfaction.
    â€œAny fool could see those pearls were Woolworth’s,” snarled Len, with whom the loss of the Train invitation was evidently a sore point. “And any fool could see that isn’t the genuine Blue John—the tint is far too pronounced. You don’t get the delicate colouring of the real thing.”
    Len might not be an expert but he certainly spoke with authority, Bobby thought. After that the dinner, much to Bobby’s relief, passed without further incident. The meal finished, they went into the drawing-room where Sir Harold Hannay, who had a passion for bridge, Lady May, who by some odd freak of nature possessed what is called ‘card sense’, and the two young Glynnes sat down to cards. Hazel went to the piano and played there softly and contentedly, choosing, as Bobby noticed with surprise, exactly those sugary, sentimental tunes he would have expected to possess for her small attraction. Having seen his guests comfortably settled, the colonel took Bobby into his study, a large room with two big writing tables, a card index cabinet, a big safe, a book-case containing many law books, easy chairs and so on. On the whole a comfortable though somewhat severe and official-looking apartment.
    â€œI get through some of my work here,” the colonel explained, producing cigars and a box of cigarettes. “You understand card indexing?”
    â€œI’ve never had to keep one, sir,” Bobby answered, “but I know how important they are. I’ve heard