it.” She sank back wearily on the seat of the ta x i . “But these sort of things don’t seem to go down so well these days. That young man Avery’s face was positively disdainful! I wonder whether his pride was too great to allow him to pick up that one-pound note!”
CHAPTER VI
LUCY found out the following afternoon. She was waiting in soft spring sunshine beside the famous sheet of water in Kensington Gardens on which not only young people, but those of more mature years, sail boats and wait for them to cross to the farther shore with as much breathless excitement as if they were the Pilgrim Fathers themselves waiting to arrive in the New World, when she was joined by the graceful figure of Paul Avery, and together they watched the boats.
Lucy was wearing her new cream suit, and that morning she had paid a visit to a hairdresser and had her hair cut really short. It looked enchanting, and a special rinse had given it the appearance of living gold, but Avery frowned.
“What have you done to your hair?” he demanded.
Lucy explained.
“It was so long, and I couldn’t do anything to it.” Her eyes hung upon his hopefully, while the colour palpitated in her cheeks in case he was disappointed. “The Countess and I agreed that it wasn’t nearly fashionable enough, so I had it cut.”
“And the Countess has expended some of her two thousand guineas on you, and bought you some new clothes?” touching the sleeve of the cream suit lightly.
She nodded.
“It was kind of her, wasn’t it?”
He shrugged.
“It all depends whether her motives were kind.” He indicated the swans, that were being fed by a group of tourists. “I’ve brought along some bread if you’d like to feed them too. It’s one of the things one does when one makes a trip to the Round Pond.”
But Lucy was afraid he hadn’t been at all impressed by her new appearance, and she had to find out.
“You—you do think I look much nicer than I did the—the first time you saw me, don’t you?” she asked, in her turn touching his sleeve.
He looked directly down at her, and he smiled. The sight of hi s hard and beautiful w hi te teeth set her heart fluttering.
“You look adorable,” he told her. “But then you looked adorable the first time I saw you.”
He slipped his hand inside her arm and drew her away from the pond.
“If you don’t want to feed the swans what shall we do ? I’ve a whole free afternoon ahead of me, and if you’re not in any hurry we’ll spend it together, shall we?”
“And you won’t find that boring?” she enquired, looking up at hi m without any coquetry, but a lurking anxiety in her eyes in case he should change his mind about devoting so much of his time to her.
“I won’t find it in the very slightest degree boring,” he assured her with solemnity, and led her over to a seat that was bathed pleasantly in suns hi ne, and overhung by some tassels of feathery spring foliage, and invited her to be seated. “We will sit here for a while and get to know one another, and then we will find somewhere that will provide us with tea.”
She smiled with relief and delight.
“When we said goodbye to one another the other day I never even dreamed you would want to see me again.”
“Then it is obvious that you dream the wrong sort of dreams,” he said, and patted her hand. He took out his cigarette-case—an expensive gold case, she noted—and offered it to her, and when she refused, selected one himself. “Tell me,” he asked, a note of amusement in his voice, “how did your employer feel this morning, after her unaccustomed dissipation of last night?”
“Oh,” Lucy assured him, “she felt perfectly all right. I’m afraid she drank rather a lot of champagne last night, and she really oughtn’t to have had that liqueur afterwards, but she woke up this morning without any sort of a hangover, and she’s already planning another evening out.” She paused. “She’s dying to know whether
CHAPTER VI
LUCY found out the following afternoon. She was waiting in soft spring sunshine beside the famous sheet of water in Kensington Gardens on which not only young people, but those of more mature years, sail boats and wait for them to cross to the farther shore with as much breathless excitement as if they were the Pilgrim Fathers themselves waiting to arrive in the New World, when she was joined by the graceful figure of Paul Avery, and together they watched the boats.
Lucy was wearing her new cream suit, and that morning she had paid a visit to a hairdresser and had her hair cut really short. It looked enchanting, and a special rinse had given it the appearance of living gold, but Avery frowned.
“What have you done to your hair?” he demanded.
Lucy explained.
“It was so long, and I couldn’t do anything to it.” Her eyes hung upon his hopefully, while the colour palpitated in her cheeks in case he was disappointed. “The Countess and I agreed that it wasn’t nearly fashionable enough, so I had it cut.”
“And the Countess has expended some of her two thousand guineas on you, and bought you some new clothes?” touching the sleeve of the cream suit lightly.
She nodded.
“It was kind of her, wasn’t it?”
He shrugged.
“It all depends whether her motives were kind.” He indicated the swans, that were being fed by a group of tourists. “I’ve brought along some bread if you’d like to feed them too. It’s one of the things one does when one makes a trip to the Round Pond.”
But Lucy was afraid he hadn’t been at all impressed by her new appearance, and she had to find out.
“You—you do think I look much nicer than I did the—the first time you saw me, don’t you?” she asked, in her turn touching his sleeve.
He looked directly down at her, and he smiled. The sight of hi s hard and beautiful w hi te teeth set her heart fluttering.
“You look adorable,” he told her. “But then you looked adorable the first time I saw you.”
He slipped his hand inside her arm and drew her away from the pond.
“If you don’t want to feed the swans what shall we do ? I’ve a whole free afternoon ahead of me, and if you’re not in any hurry we’ll spend it together, shall we?”
“And you won’t find that boring?” she enquired, looking up at hi m without any coquetry, but a lurking anxiety in her eyes in case he should change his mind about devoting so much of his time to her.
“I won’t find it in the very slightest degree boring,” he assured her with solemnity, and led her over to a seat that was bathed pleasantly in suns hi ne, and overhung by some tassels of feathery spring foliage, and invited her to be seated. “We will sit here for a while and get to know one another, and then we will find somewhere that will provide us with tea.”
She smiled with relief and delight.
“When we said goodbye to one another the other day I never even dreamed you would want to see me again.”
“Then it is obvious that you dream the wrong sort of dreams,” he said, and patted her hand. He took out his cigarette-case—an expensive gold case, she noted—and offered it to her, and when she refused, selected one himself. “Tell me,” he asked, a note of amusement in his voice, “how did your employer feel this morning, after her unaccustomed dissipation of last night?”
“Oh,” Lucy assured him, “she felt perfectly all right. I’m afraid she drank rather a lot of champagne last night, and she really oughtn’t to have had that liqueur afterwards, but she woke up this morning without any sort of a hangover, and she’s already planning another evening out.” She paused. “She’s dying to know whether
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