A girl suddenly appeared from behind a huge flowering Dorothy Perkins in
a white tub, and two or three officers and another girl in a bunchy
mauve and silver gown fluttered up from a low pink divan.
They stared at me, in my old mack, with well-bred curiosity, and I
thought I looked like someone from the pit wandered on to a musical
comedy scene.
The music stopped, and a girl suddenly appeared at the french-windows.
She was perfectly wonderful.
She was awfully fair and tall and slender, and she had blue eyes the
exact colour of her georgette gown.
You could have cried over her, she was so lovely; and she had the sort
of mouth that made you feel you simply couldn't go away until you had
seen it smile.
"Hullo! Cap.," she said; her voice was light and high and sweet, almost
as if she were laughing at something.
"I've brought your book back, Grace," he said; and then he took my hand.
"Oh, Pam dear," he said--then to the handsome lady at the bridge table,
"May I introduce my little fiancee--Miss Burbridge."
I knew then; I just knew by the look in those very blue eyes. I quite
understood why Captain Cromer was bitter, why he wanted a fiancee.
He wanted to hit back.
A sort of buzz of talk and teasing broke out all round me, and through
it all I detected a vein of surprise.
Grace Gilpin came down the veranda to shake hands. She walked
wonderfully--just like an actress on the stage.
"Why, you poor souls!" she said, lightly and gaily, "so it's
raining"--and she looked at my old mack; then _everybody_ looked at it.