“Thank you,” Pamela answered quickly,
“I am Mr. Lutchester’s guest this evening.
If you are still here, I shall love to come and speak
to aunt for a moment later on. If not, I will
ring up to-morrow morning.”
The bland, almost episcopal serenity of Senator Hastings’
face was somewhat disturbed. It was obvious that
the situation displeased him.
“I think, Pamela,” he said, “that
you had better come and speak to your aunt before
you leave.”
His bow to Lutchester was the bow of a politician
to an adversary. He made his way back in leisurely
fashion to the table from which he had come, exchanging
a few words with many acquaintances. Pamela watched
him with a twinkle in her eyes.
“I am becoming so unpopular,” she murmured.
“I can read in my uncle’s tone that my
aunt and he disapprove of our dining together here.
And as for Mr. Fischer. I’m afraid he’ll
break off our prospective alliance.”
Lutchester smiled.
“Prospective is the only word to use,”
he observed. “By the bye, are you particularly
fond of your uncle?”
“Not riotously,” she admitted. “He
has been kind to me once or twice, but he’s
rather a starchy old person.”
“In that case,” Lutchester decided, “we
won’t interfere.”
Fischer had by no means the appearance of a discomfited
man that evening, when some time later Pamela and
Lutchester approached the little group of which he
seemed, somehow, to have become the central figure.
It was a small party, but, in its way, a distinguished
one. Pamela’s aunt was a member of an historic
American family, and a woman of great social position,
not only in New York but in Washington itself.
Of the remaining guests, one was a financial magnate
of world-wide fame, and the other, Senator Joyce,
a politician of such eminence that his name was freely
mentioned as a possible future president. Mrs.
Hastings greeted Pamela and her escort without enthusiasm.
“My dear child,” she exclaimed, “how
extraordinary to find you here!”
“Is it?” Pamela observed indifferently.
“You know Mr. Lutchester, don’t you, aunt?”
Mrs. Hastings remembered her late dinner guest, but
her recognition was icy and barely polite. She
turned away at once and resumed her conversation with
Fischer. Lutchester was not introduced to either
of the other members of the party. He laid his
hand on the back of an empty chair and turned it round
for Pamela, but she stopped him with a word of thanks.
Something had gone from her own naturally pleasant
tone. She held her hand higher, even, than her
aunt’s, as she turned a little insistently towards
her.
“So sorry, aunt,” she announced, “but
we are going now. Good night!”
Mrs. Hastings disapproved.
“We have seen nothing of you yet, Pamela,”
she said stiffly. “You had better stay
with us and we will drop you on our way home.”
