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Authors: Susan Barrie
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Mrs. Barrington came the chauffeur who maintained the Daimler at such a shining pitch of perfection, bearing the heavier articles which the slight figure of the widow could hardly be expected to carry.
Karen, who realized that she had been waiting with something not nearly so stimulating as curiosity for this moment, knew that all her worst fears were instantly realized when she took her first look at Fiona Barrington.
To begin with, the coat she was wearing was so obviously mink that Karen’s heart dropped like a plummet when she remembered her own cheap tweed. And she wa s wearing a little mink cap, too, specially designed to call attention to corn-silk hair. Not fair hair, like Karen’s own, but a deep, shining, lustrous gold.
Her eyes were golden, too—golden as quartz or topaz—and they were smiling in an enchanting way under the mink cap. She couldn’t have been much older than Karen herself, in spite of her widowhood, but she had all the sophistication and the poise in the world, and as she shook hands with K a ren the latter caught the first faint breath of the delicate perfume she brought with her, like something belonging exclusively to Paris in the springtime.
“And this is the little fiancée ?” she said, and just as Aunt Horatio had done she shot a sudden, sideways glance at Iain’s face that had the merest suspicion of something both quizzical and amused in it.
Mackenzie’s face remained cool and slightly aloof—an expression that had appeared in it the instant he had ceased greeting his aunt. But Karen did not dare to look at him, and she only knew that she herself had failed to create an impression that could quite truthfully be described as favorable—or, at any rate, she herd been something of a surprise to both of these women visitors. Although she was wearing her best tweed skirt, and a jumper that was neat and unspectacular, she had all the colorlessness of an invalid about her—or one who was only just c easing to be an invalid—and it was plain at a j glance that she lacked both confidence and poise, and moreover that she was almost desperately shy and aware of how badly she fitted in just then.
She wanted to escape with Mrs. Burns when the housekeeper appeared to receive instructions about extra places at the luncheon table; and she would have been happy to have been simply Prout, whose only task was to hand round drinks in the drawing room before they all went in to the meal. But she was the prospective mistress of the house, or so they all fondly believed, and she could not merely sit tongue-tied and afraid that if she did open her lips she might say something unwise and foolish that would glaringly proclaim her to be acting a part.
It was not so bad while lunch was in progress, for the service of the meal caused enough diversion, and Mrs. Burns was agitated because she had not known beforehand that the visitors were preparing to descend upon them. She infected Prout with some of her own agitation as a result of supervising her too closely whenever they were in the dining-room together, until, in order to pour oil on the troubled waters. Aunt Horatia declared when they were nearing the coffee stage that the lunch was far more perfect than anything she ever enjoyed |n her own house, and Mrs. Burns at least was happy again.
Iain, too, while they will still seated at the long table in the dining-room, was careful to give Karen all the support he could, and dangerous topics like how long he and Karen had been engaged to be married, exactly, where they met, and when they were proposing to get married, were skilfully sidetracked by him in favor of his aunt’s rheumatism, and the wonderful cure for which the Italian doctor was responsible.
But once back in the drawing-room after lunch, Karen knew that the real attack was coming. Mrs. Montagu-Jackson managed to install herself in a chair close to Karen’s, while Mrs. Barrington occupied a corner of a Chesterfield and successfully
Karen, who realized that she had been waiting with something not nearly so stimulating as curiosity for this moment, knew that all her worst fears were instantly realized when she took her first look at Fiona Barrington.
To begin with, the coat she was wearing was so obviously mink that Karen’s heart dropped like a plummet when she remembered her own cheap tweed. And she wa s wearing a little mink cap, too, specially designed to call attention to corn-silk hair. Not fair hair, like Karen’s own, but a deep, shining, lustrous gold.
Her eyes were golden, too—golden as quartz or topaz—and they were smiling in an enchanting way under the mink cap. She couldn’t have been much older than Karen herself, in spite of her widowhood, but she had all the sophistication and the poise in the world, and as she shook hands with K a ren the latter caught the first faint breath of the delicate perfume she brought with her, like something belonging exclusively to Paris in the springtime.
“And this is the little fiancée ?” she said, and just as Aunt Horatio had done she shot a sudden, sideways glance at Iain’s face that had the merest suspicion of something both quizzical and amused in it.
Mackenzie’s face remained cool and slightly aloof—an expression that had appeared in it the instant he had ceased greeting his aunt. But Karen did not dare to look at him, and she only knew that she herself had failed to create an impression that could quite truthfully be described as favorable—or, at any rate, she herd been something of a surprise to both of these women visitors. Although she was wearing her best tweed skirt, and a jumper that was neat and unspectacular, she had all the colorlessness of an invalid about her—or one who was only just c easing to be an invalid—and it was plain at a j glance that she lacked both confidence and poise, and moreover that she was almost desperately shy and aware of how badly she fitted in just then.
She wanted to escape with Mrs. Burns when the housekeeper appeared to receive instructions about extra places at the luncheon table; and she would have been happy to have been simply Prout, whose only task was to hand round drinks in the drawing room before they all went in to the meal. But she was the prospective mistress of the house, or so they all fondly believed, and she could not merely sit tongue-tied and afraid that if she did open her lips she might say something unwise and foolish that would glaringly proclaim her to be acting a part.
It was not so bad while lunch was in progress, for the service of the meal caused enough diversion, and Mrs. Burns was agitated because she had not known beforehand that the visitors were preparing to descend upon them. She infected Prout with some of her own agitation as a result of supervising her too closely whenever they were in the dining-room together, until, in order to pour oil on the troubled waters. Aunt Horatia declared when they were nearing the coffee stage that the lunch was far more perfect than anything she ever enjoyed |n her own house, and Mrs. Burns at least was happy again.
Iain, too, while they will still seated at the long table in the dining-room, was careful to give Karen all the support he could, and dangerous topics like how long he and Karen had been engaged to be married, exactly, where they met, and when they were proposing to get married, were skilfully sidetracked by him in favor of his aunt’s rheumatism, and the wonderful cure for which the Italian doctor was responsible.
But once back in the drawing-room after lunch, Karen knew that the real attack was coming. Mrs. Montagu-Jackson managed to install herself in a chair close to Karen’s, while Mrs. Barrington occupied a corner of a Chesterfield and successfully
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