SHE found Elsie at the window of the drawing-room watching her brother and Polly Pleyden, who were retreating down a path.
“Hullo, Elsie. Hope your cold’s better.”
Elsie turned swiftly and was annoyed to feel her face flushing. “I’m afraid you think me a brute,” she stammered.
“Not at all,” said Gita briskly. “A cold must be a beastly affliction. Mother used to have them and always went to bed. Eustace had a horrid one last winter. Looked horrid, too. Have a cigarette?”
“No, thanks—bad for a cold.” Elsie could not feign hoarseness, but she was grateful that her face was peaked and pale.
Gita’s eyes were hard and bright. She sat in a high-backed wing-chair, her head very erect. Her resemblance to the portrait of her grandmother behind her smote Elsie; and with a faint sense of amusement but more of regret, she seated herself opposite.
“Geoffrey tells me that Eustace is getting on splendidly,” she said. “I’m so glad to hear it.”
“Your brother is an admirable surgeon. Lucky for Eustace he was in Atlantic City that night. Lucky more ways than one. Averted a scandal, no doubt. I’ve just seen Eustace, and now that he’s so much better I hope you’ll give him some of your time. He always enjoyed talking to you.”
“Of course I will! As often as he can stand me. But I suppose he’ll be up and about before long.”
“He’ll still need amusing. You wouldn’t like to move over again? Eustace will probably go abroad later, but not for quite a while, I should think. He’ll no doubt prefer to get his strength back here in the country. I’ll be glad to have you come.”
Elsie darted a swift glance at the haughty, almost arrogant figure in the stately chair. What scheme lay behind that careless invitation that was more like a command? She fancied she could guess.
“I’ll come, of course, if you want me. And I’m glad Polly was able to be with you this week. She’s not wasting her time, by the way.” Elsie craned her neck toward the garden. “You remember I once told you she had—oddly enough—taken a tremendous fancy to my brother. I’m wondering if it’s really serious.”
But Gita would not discuss Polly with Elsie. And she suddenly remembered that Geoffrey’s sister had expressed intense disapproval of such a marriage. She ranged herself on Polly’s side instinctively.
Dr. Pelham appeared at the window. “Why are you sitting in the house on a day like this?” he asked. “Come out into the garden. How did you find Eustace, Mrs. Bylant?”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me Mrs. Bylant. I’m Gita Carteret to everyone else. He seems all right, and not a bit tired when I left him. Where’s Polly?”
“Just left. Her mother’s car came for her some time ago as she’s expected for lunch. She asked me to explain, as she thought you were still upstairs with Eustace.”
Gita placed her hands on the low sill of the window and swung herself out on to the grass. “Coming, Elsie?” She suppressed an impulse to say “Mrs. Brewster.” “Or will you go over and get your things?”
Elsie hesitated. For the first time the eyes of the two girls met in hostility. No invitation for luncheon came from Gita although it could not be far from one o’clock. Elsie was only half-beaten, however.
“I’ll telephone for a taxi, if I may,” she said. “I don’t feel up to a long walk, and I’d be likely to catch more cold in a trolley.”
She strolled with them in the garden until the taxi arrived, praying it would be late and Gita, in common decency, be compelled to ask her to remain for luncheon, when Topper announced it. She guessed that Polly would return at the earliest possible moment, but there was something about Gita that filled her with misgivings. Even her hair looked wicked. It almost stood up straight. Two hours, at least!
But the taxi arrived in less than fifteen minutes. The absence of traffic laws in Atlantic City—or of enforcement—was conducive to promptness. She offered to drive her brother home. He preferred a walk later. There was no doubt about his invitation! Elsie went off in her dingy cab alone.