It
required a woman's intuition to divine this fact, for Mr Pickering
was not coherent. He did not go straight to the point. He rambled.
But Claire understood, and it came to her that this thing had
taken her before she was ready. In a brief while she would have to
give an answer of some sort, and she had not clearly decided what
answer she meant to give.
Then, while he was still skirting his subject, before he had
wandered to what he really wished to say, the music stopped, the
applause broke out again, and Lady Wetherby returned to the table
like a pugilist seeking his corner at the end of a round. Her face
was flushed and she was breathing hard.
'They pay me money for that!' she observed, genially. 'Can you
beat it?'
The spell was broken. Mr Pickering sank back in his chair in a
punctured manner. And Claire, making monosyllabic replies to her
friend's remarks, was able to bend her mind to the task of finding
out how she stood on this important Pickering issue. That he would
return to the attack as soon as possible she knew; and the next
time she must have her attitude clearly defined one way or the
other.
Lady Wetherby, having got the Dance of Psyche out of her system,
and replaced it with a glass of iced coffee, was inclined for
conversation.
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