the dinner-party, and Mrs. Bowman approved of it strongly when her companion showed it to her. It was white corded silk, and with it she planned to wear cobwebby white satin sandals, and her own really flawless row of carefully graded pearls ... her father’s last expensive gift to her. Mrs. Bowman, who, despite her clinging to her old-fashioned surroundings, liked to think of herself as modern in many ways, and even “with it”, approved the short, swinging skirt of the dress, but pointed out that it was not nearly as short as anything Mademoiselle d’Evremonde was likely to wear, unless she was striking one of her poses in one of her floating evening-gowns, for she w as the most up-to-the-minute young woman in St. Vaizey, and possibly that whole corner of Switzerland.
Jane was surprised, for it did not strike her that such a young woman would make an ideal doctor’s wife, particularly a doctor who had already climbed high in his profession. And then she told herself that it was she who was being old-fashioned, and having already met the enchanting Mademoiselle Chantal she was not really surprised that Jules Delacroix saw her in the role, very likely, of the ideal doctor’s wife. Or perhaps he didn’t care whether she was likely to turn out to be an ideal wife of any kind. Perhaps he was too bemused by her, too full of admiration for her, to mind one way or the other.
Amongst the first guests to arrive on the night of the party were the d’Evremondes. Father and mother were very friendly and almost simple people, but Chantal shone like a star. She was wearing blue—ice blue—and it was no more than a tunic embroidered with silver, and revealing for all to see a lovely slender length of leg.
Such grace, such perfection, Jane thought as she gazed at her almost compulsively, must take a man’s breath away, particularly when he adored her already. She was not in the least surprised to see Dr. Delacroix appear almost as if he was slightly taken aback when he, too, arrived, and Chantal rushed across the room to him and took him possessively by the arm.
Dark and curiously, vitally attractive in his dinner-jacket, he actually appeared embarrassed for a moment. Chantal had betrayed no sign of recognising Jane, or having seen her before, and after the first introductions she practically ignored her. She was placed beside the doctor at the dinner-table, and on her other side she had the serious Swiss lawyer. Jane found herself placed opposite Dr. Delacroix, with the Swiss banker on one side of her and his wife on the other.
Florence had excelled herself over the meal, and everything was beautifully served and there were no hitches of any kind. The long rosewood dining-table was a blaze of silver, crystal and flowers—which Jane had spent some time arranging, just as she had arranged the flowers in the drawing-room—and the hostess herself appeared quite in her element as she sat enthroned in her black lace at the head of the table.
Afterwards coffee was served in the drawing room, and Jane did the honours behind the enormous silver coffee-tray, and Dr. Delacroix handed round the cups. Every time he returned to her for another of the fragile porcelain cups he was inclined to frown at her, and she realised that he had not yet forgiven her for deceiving him over her real reason for visiting St. Vaizey when he met her for the first time.
While the somewhat long-drawn-out dinner was in progress she noticed that he studied her in the same manner, but he made no effort to draw her into any conversation at the table. For one thing, Mademoiselle d’Evremonde sparkled so much, and was such a determined conversationalist, that he had little opportunity. But Jane did think he might say something to shatter the somewhat oppressive silence whenever he joined her at the coffee-tray.
Having handed out the last of the cups she took her own to a corner and sat down with it. A palm in a Benares brass container provided her with a
Jane was surprised, for it did not strike her that such a young woman would make an ideal doctor’s wife, particularly a doctor who had already climbed high in his profession. And then she told herself that it was she who was being old-fashioned, and having already met the enchanting Mademoiselle Chantal she was not really surprised that Jules Delacroix saw her in the role, very likely, of the ideal doctor’s wife. Or perhaps he didn’t care whether she was likely to turn out to be an ideal wife of any kind. Perhaps he was too bemused by her, too full of admiration for her, to mind one way or the other.
Amongst the first guests to arrive on the night of the party were the d’Evremondes. Father and mother were very friendly and almost simple people, but Chantal shone like a star. She was wearing blue—ice blue—and it was no more than a tunic embroidered with silver, and revealing for all to see a lovely slender length of leg.
Such grace, such perfection, Jane thought as she gazed at her almost compulsively, must take a man’s breath away, particularly when he adored her already. She was not in the least surprised to see Dr. Delacroix appear almost as if he was slightly taken aback when he, too, arrived, and Chantal rushed across the room to him and took him possessively by the arm.
Dark and curiously, vitally attractive in his dinner-jacket, he actually appeared embarrassed for a moment. Chantal had betrayed no sign of recognising Jane, or having seen her before, and after the first introductions she practically ignored her. She was placed beside the doctor at the dinner-table, and on her other side she had the serious Swiss lawyer. Jane found herself placed opposite Dr. Delacroix, with the Swiss banker on one side of her and his wife on the other.
Florence had excelled herself over the meal, and everything was beautifully served and there were no hitches of any kind. The long rosewood dining-table was a blaze of silver, crystal and flowers—which Jane had spent some time arranging, just as she had arranged the flowers in the drawing-room—and the hostess herself appeared quite in her element as she sat enthroned in her black lace at the head of the table.
Afterwards coffee was served in the drawing room, and Jane did the honours behind the enormous silver coffee-tray, and Dr. Delacroix handed round the cups. Every time he returned to her for another of the fragile porcelain cups he was inclined to frown at her, and she realised that he had not yet forgiven her for deceiving him over her real reason for visiting St. Vaizey when he met her for the first time.
While the somewhat long-drawn-out dinner was in progress she noticed that he studied her in the same manner, but he made no effort to draw her into any conversation at the table. For one thing, Mademoiselle d’Evremonde sparkled so much, and was such a determined conversationalist, that he had little opportunity. But Jane did think he might say something to shatter the somewhat oppressive silence whenever he joined her at the coffee-tray.
Having handed out the last of the cups she took her own to a corner and sat down with it. A palm in a Benares brass container provided her with a
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