“Yes, dear, I know how busy you are, but I thought you’d like to know that your father’s invited Mr Mannering tonight. I just wondered whether . . .”

“John Mannering?” asked Lorna.

“Who else?” asked Lady Fauntley. “Eight o’clock; but if you’d like to come I’ll keep dinner back a little while.”

“I’m a pig of a daughter,” said Lorna Fauntley, “and there are times when I’m ashamed of myself.”

“I understand you, Lorna.”

Lorna laughed. “I really think you do,” she said. “Be an angel and send Riddel! over with the car. I’ve a dress here that I can wear. Bye-bye.”

CHAPTER THREE

DINNER AND AN IDEA

“SO THAT’S FAUNTLEY’S DAUGHTER,” THOUGHT MANNERING.

During dinner he sat opposite the girl. There was something disturbing about her, he admitted, although he wasn’t sure what it was. She wasn’t beautiful; remarkable, he told himself, was a word that suited her. Her eyes were grey, thoughtful, and probing. Probing. She had nothing of her mother’s lumpiness, and she was taller than either of her parents. Her movements were graceful but unconsidered, almost like a challenge: “Here am I, whether you like the effect or you don’t.” Mannering did. She looked mutinous, he thought. Her chin was firm, square, and like a man’s.

“She’s at war with the world,” Mannering told himself, “and that means she’s unhappy, which suggests an affaire. She’s twenty-five, or a year or two older, and she’s cleverer than her years. H’m.”

“He’s cynical,” Lorna thought, “and I hate cynical men. He’s handsome, and I dislike handsome men. He’s clever, and knows it, and clever men are detestable. Why do I like him?”

“The most distinguished man I’ve ever seen,” thought Lady Fauntley. “So tall and strong, so reserved. Just the man for Lorna — no, I mustn’t think of such things.” Aloud: “Do try a little of that sauce with your fish, Mr Mannering. It’s very out of the ordinary.”