forced Linda to find out how to make the best of them. For this dress she had chosen a green and bronze shot taffeta. The well-fitting bodice showed her figure to perfection, while the deep swathe of almost carelessly folded material round her shoulders drew attention to their whiteness. The skirt, close fitting at the hips, flared out into wide, graceful lines and, for the finishing touch, she rustled softly like a summer breeze as she walked.
“Don’t be silly,” she said lightly in response to Desmond’s remark. “It’s only polite— : —”
“Do you know what I’d call that rig if I were a couturier giving a show?” Desmond interrupted. Linda shook her head indifferently. “Tiger’s lair! Yes, I mean it! The changing colours of the material suggest the depths of a jungle, and your hair—you know, I believe I was right! You are out to kill! What interests me is—who is the prey? Somehow, I hardly think Bellairs fills the bill. So it must be Saxilby. Is it?”
“Don’t be a fool, Desmond!” Linda said coolly. “According to Judith he is neither attractive nor well-to-do. Is that the sort of man I should be interested in?”
“No,” he admitted promptly. “But all the same, you are the sort of woman who believes in first impressions. I’m not sure you altogether trust Judith’s opinion—and you are taking no chances!”
“You are altogether too clever,” Linda told him. And with the obvious intention of changing the subject went on rather sharply: “I suppose you did give the car a clean up inside? I’ve no desire to arrive with smears of oil all over me.”
“You won’t,” he promised.
After all, they were not late, for Mr. Bellairs had still to arrive when they got to Windygates, and so had Charles.
It struck Linda afresh as Miss Ravensdale greeted her that the older woman did not really like her—or, for that matter, Desmond, and not for the first time she wondered what had prompted the invitation.
“What a charming dress!” Miss Ravensdale commented pleasantly. “And a very beautiful material!”
“It is some that Mother had stored away,” Linda said rather shortly. In view of the simplicity of Miss Ravensdale’s own silver-grey dress, she felt that the remark was in the nature of a criticism, and she resented it.
They were sitting on the terrace enjoying the cool of the early evening, and almost immediately Mr. Bellairs joined them, followed closely by Charles.
Both the Enstones knew the solicitor, of course, for, so long as the family had had any affairs he had dealt with them. They greeted him politely, and then Miss Ravensdale introduced Charles to Linda.
Linda paid him the compliment that few men can resist of giving him all her attention at that moment. She smiled up at him not only with her lips but with her eyes as she offered Charles her hand and he, taking it, bowed over it with an ease and grace which recalled to her the fact that he was, after all, half-American by birth and consequently far more a squire of dames than a man entirely English usually admits to being.
And then, as he stood erect again, their eyes met for a moment and Linda found herself thinking:
“Judith is a fool! The man is amazingly attractive! Good-looking and intelligent. You can see it at a glance. Something else, as well! Exciting.”
But, from her cool, possessed manner, no one would ever have guessed her thoughts—or her deep interest as he turned to greet Judith—Judith looking, so Linda had decided when they met, like a sack tied in the middle. She was a fool! With a man like this about.
But it was very evident that Judith simply did not see him in that light. As a matter of fact, she was very much annoyed that Miss Ravensdale had invited him at all, and she vented her anger on Charles by ignoring him as far as possible. So that, Linda realised, was why she and Desmond had been asked. For some reason or other, Miss Ravensdale was determined that Charles should be entertained
“Don’t be silly,” she said lightly in response to Desmond’s remark. “It’s only polite— : —”
“Do you know what I’d call that rig if I were a couturier giving a show?” Desmond interrupted. Linda shook her head indifferently. “Tiger’s lair! Yes, I mean it! The changing colours of the material suggest the depths of a jungle, and your hair—you know, I believe I was right! You are out to kill! What interests me is—who is the prey? Somehow, I hardly think Bellairs fills the bill. So it must be Saxilby. Is it?”
“Don’t be a fool, Desmond!” Linda said coolly. “According to Judith he is neither attractive nor well-to-do. Is that the sort of man I should be interested in?”
“No,” he admitted promptly. “But all the same, you are the sort of woman who believes in first impressions. I’m not sure you altogether trust Judith’s opinion—and you are taking no chances!”
“You are altogether too clever,” Linda told him. And with the obvious intention of changing the subject went on rather sharply: “I suppose you did give the car a clean up inside? I’ve no desire to arrive with smears of oil all over me.”
“You won’t,” he promised.
After all, they were not late, for Mr. Bellairs had still to arrive when they got to Windygates, and so had Charles.
It struck Linda afresh as Miss Ravensdale greeted her that the older woman did not really like her—or, for that matter, Desmond, and not for the first time she wondered what had prompted the invitation.
“What a charming dress!” Miss Ravensdale commented pleasantly. “And a very beautiful material!”
“It is some that Mother had stored away,” Linda said rather shortly. In view of the simplicity of Miss Ravensdale’s own silver-grey dress, she felt that the remark was in the nature of a criticism, and she resented it.
They were sitting on the terrace enjoying the cool of the early evening, and almost immediately Mr. Bellairs joined them, followed closely by Charles.
Both the Enstones knew the solicitor, of course, for, so long as the family had had any affairs he had dealt with them. They greeted him politely, and then Miss Ravensdale introduced Charles to Linda.
Linda paid him the compliment that few men can resist of giving him all her attention at that moment. She smiled up at him not only with her lips but with her eyes as she offered Charles her hand and he, taking it, bowed over it with an ease and grace which recalled to her the fact that he was, after all, half-American by birth and consequently far more a squire of dames than a man entirely English usually admits to being.
And then, as he stood erect again, their eyes met for a moment and Linda found herself thinking:
“Judith is a fool! The man is amazingly attractive! Good-looking and intelligent. You can see it at a glance. Something else, as well! Exciting.”
But, from her cool, possessed manner, no one would ever have guessed her thoughts—or her deep interest as he turned to greet Judith—Judith looking, so Linda had decided when they met, like a sack tied in the middle. She was a fool! With a man like this about.
But it was very evident that Judith simply did not see him in that light. As a matter of fact, she was very much annoyed that Miss Ravensdale had invited him at all, and she vented her anger on Charles by ignoring him as far as possible. So that, Linda realised, was why she and Desmond had been asked. For some reason or other, Miss Ravensdale was determined that Charles should be entertained
Similar Books
