through its accompanying slip. With every movement sequins sparkled in its drifting folds as dewdrops sparkle in a cobweb. With it went a stole that lay as light as gossamer about her pearly arms and shoulders. Her hair was pale sunlight on a misty day.
Vivian returned as she was putting on her silver shoes.
“ Valerie! Oh, you do look nice!”
“I feel like Cinderella going to the ball—and midnight ’ s still a lovely long way off. Twenty-six whole days.”
“Midnight may never come—so let ’ s forget it till it does!”
The four of them—Rory and Valerie, Susan and Harry Prescott—were going to have dinner at the Schweizerhof before the dance. Rory had been out all day on a long expedition with John Ainslie, and as his pension was close beside the Schweizerhof it had been arranged that Valerie should go there with the Prescotts. Snug in fur - lined overboots and gloves, and Vivian ’ s fur-lined coat, she met them in the hall at the appointed time, and presently was tucked between them in a sleigh, with rugs drawn up about their chins, and a kind of pram hood sheltering them above. Extraordinary, she thought, that those same stars that hung so huge and glittering against the fathomless indigo of the sky were at this very moment looking down on Darlingford and Hawthorn Lodge, though there they would look smaller, dimmer, inferior altogether, if indeed they could be seen at all. Most probably they were hidden by cloud.
With gaily jingling bells they set off through the frostbound night.
Vivian had not seen John Ainslie since last night; he must have made an early start this morning. All day she had had it on her mind that she had been ungracious in the manner of her refusal to go with him to the dance. She was impatient to put matters right, and looked about as soon as Valerie had gone, to see if he were in the lounge. But there was no sign of him. She sat for a few minutes, helping Mr. Cunningham with his crossword puzzle, then went in to dinner.
She had hoped John Ainslie might be in the dining-room, but he was not there. Every time the door opened she looked up, hoping he would come in; even to smile at him in friendly fashion would somehow salve her smarting conscience. The room filled up, but still there was no sign of him and she began to be afraid he might have gone for dinner to friends staying elsewhere. She liked him far too well to be willing to postpone her explanation and apology for another day. It was one thing to avoid the risk of being a nuisance to him, quite another to appear discourteous! She decided that if he were out she would stay reading in the lounge till he returned. Probably by that time people would be going up to bed, and it should be an easy matter to have a quiet word with him.
Then, as she was beginning to eat a frail meringue piled high with whipped cream delicately flavoured with some liqueur, the door opened once again and he came in. The way to his seat lay past her table, but instead of passing her he crossed the room to have a word with someone on the other side, and finally, without a glance in her direction, went to his place and while he waited for his soup began to read a paper he had brought in. Surely he would have looked her way, smiled a good evening, if he had not been annoyed or hurt by her ungraciousness last night? Yet she would not have expected him to take offence without good reason ... Had her manner been more brusque even that she remembered, looking back? Telling herself that she was making mountains out of mole hills, yet none the less uneasy, she finished her meringue and told Elise that she would have coffee in the lounge, she waited there, sipping her coffee, making a pretence of reading so that no well-meaning individual, thinking she felt lonely in her sister ’ s absence, should come to occupy the vacant chair beside her.
It seemed a long time before John Ainslie finished dinner, but he came at last. As he glanced round the room to find
Vivian returned as she was putting on her silver shoes.
“ Valerie! Oh, you do look nice!”
“I feel like Cinderella going to the ball—and midnight ’ s still a lovely long way off. Twenty-six whole days.”
“Midnight may never come—so let ’ s forget it till it does!”
The four of them—Rory and Valerie, Susan and Harry Prescott—were going to have dinner at the Schweizerhof before the dance. Rory had been out all day on a long expedition with John Ainslie, and as his pension was close beside the Schweizerhof it had been arranged that Valerie should go there with the Prescotts. Snug in fur - lined overboots and gloves, and Vivian ’ s fur-lined coat, she met them in the hall at the appointed time, and presently was tucked between them in a sleigh, with rugs drawn up about their chins, and a kind of pram hood sheltering them above. Extraordinary, she thought, that those same stars that hung so huge and glittering against the fathomless indigo of the sky were at this very moment looking down on Darlingford and Hawthorn Lodge, though there they would look smaller, dimmer, inferior altogether, if indeed they could be seen at all. Most probably they were hidden by cloud.
With gaily jingling bells they set off through the frostbound night.
Vivian had not seen John Ainslie since last night; he must have made an early start this morning. All day she had had it on her mind that she had been ungracious in the manner of her refusal to go with him to the dance. She was impatient to put matters right, and looked about as soon as Valerie had gone, to see if he were in the lounge. But there was no sign of him. She sat for a few minutes, helping Mr. Cunningham with his crossword puzzle, then went in to dinner.
She had hoped John Ainslie might be in the dining-room, but he was not there. Every time the door opened she looked up, hoping he would come in; even to smile at him in friendly fashion would somehow salve her smarting conscience. The room filled up, but still there was no sign of him and she began to be afraid he might have gone for dinner to friends staying elsewhere. She liked him far too well to be willing to postpone her explanation and apology for another day. It was one thing to avoid the risk of being a nuisance to him, quite another to appear discourteous! She decided that if he were out she would stay reading in the lounge till he returned. Probably by that time people would be going up to bed, and it should be an easy matter to have a quiet word with him.
Then, as she was beginning to eat a frail meringue piled high with whipped cream delicately flavoured with some liqueur, the door opened once again and he came in. The way to his seat lay past her table, but instead of passing her he crossed the room to have a word with someone on the other side, and finally, without a glance in her direction, went to his place and while he waited for his soup began to read a paper he had brought in. Surely he would have looked her way, smiled a good evening, if he had not been annoyed or hurt by her ungraciousness last night? Yet she would not have expected him to take offence without good reason ... Had her manner been more brusque even that she remembered, looking back? Telling herself that she was making mountains out of mole hills, yet none the less uneasy, she finished her meringue and told Elise that she would have coffee in the lounge, she waited there, sipping her coffee, making a pretence of reading so that no well-meaning individual, thinking she felt lonely in her sister ’ s absence, should come to occupy the vacant chair beside her.
It seemed a long time before John Ainslie finished dinner, but he came at last. As he glanced round the room to find
Similar Books
