But the most
remarkable feature about her was her eyes. There was no trace of age in
them. Bright and keen as the eyes of a rat, they gave me an unpleasant
thrill as I felt her gaze fixed upon me when I entered the door, arm in
arm with Dicky. It was as though they had pierced me through, and had
laid bare something I would have concealed. It was a relief to pass
beyond her into a recessed part of the room where her gaze might waste
itself on the back of my head.
"Mother Borton's up late to-night," said Dicky thoughtfully, as he
ordered wine.
"You can't blame her for thinking that this crowd needs watching," I
suggested with as much of airiness as I could throw into my manner.
Dicky shook his head for a second, and then resumed his light-hearted,
bantering way. Yet I could see that he was perplexed and anxious about
something that had come to his attention on our arrival.
"You'll not want to attend to business till all the boys are here?"
asked Dicky.
"Not unless there's something to be done," I responded dryly.
Dicky gave me a quick glance.
"Of course," he said with a laugh that was not quite easy, "not unless
there's something to be done. But I thought there was something."
"You've got a fine mind for thinking, Dicky," I replied. "You'd better
cultivate it."
"Well, they say there's nothing like society for that sort of
cultivation," said Dicky with another laugh. "They don't say what kind,
but I've got a pretty good stock here to choose from.
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