Cynthia Drassilis closed the door and smiled.
‘A nervous young person!’ she said. ‘What was he saying about a yacht, Nesta?’
Mrs Ford roused herself from her fascinated contemplation of Ogden.
‘Oh, nothing. Some of us are going to the south of France in his yacht next week.’
‘What a delightful idea!’
There was a certain pensive note in Cynthia’s voice.
‘A splendid idea!’ she murmured.
Mrs Ford swooped. She descended on Ogden in a swirl and rustle of expensive millinery, and clasped him to her.
‘My boy!’
It is not given to everybody to glide neatly into a scene of tense emotion. Ogden failed to do so. He wriggled roughly from the embrace.
‘Got a cigarette?’ he said.
He was an extraordinarily unpleasant little boy. Physically the portrait standing on the chair did him more than justice. Painted by a mother’s loving hand, it flattered him. It was bulgy. He was more bulgy. It was sullen. He scowled. And, art having its limitations, particularly amateur art, the portrait gave no hint of his very repellent manner. He was an intensely sophisticated child. He had the air of one who has seen all life has to offer, and is now permanently bored. His speech and bearing were those of a young man, and a distinctly unlovable young man.
Even Mrs Ford was momentarily chilled. She laughed shakily.
‘How very matter-of-fact you are, darling!’ she said.
Cynthia was regarding the heir to the Ford millions with her usual steady, half-contemptuous gaze.
‘He has been that all day,’ she said. ‘You have no notion what a help it was to me.’
Mrs Ford turned to her effusively.
‘Oh, Cynthia, dear, I haven’t thanked you.’
‘No,’ interpolated the girl dryly.
‘You’re a wonder, darling. You really are. I’ve been repeating that ever since I got your telegram from Eastnor.’ She broke off. ‘Ogden, come near me, my little son.’
He lurched towards her sullenly.
‘Don’t muss a fellow now,’ he stipulated, before allowing himself to be enfolded in the outstretched arms.
‘Tell me, Cynthia,’ resumed Mrs Ford, ‘how did you do it? I was telling Lord Mountry that I -hoped- I might see my Ogden again soon, but I never really hoped. It seemed too impossible that you should succeed.’
‘This Lord Mountry of yours,’ said Cynthia. ‘How did you get to know him? Why have I not seen him before?’
‘I met him in Paris in the fall. He has been out of London for a long time, looking after his father, who was ill.’
‘I see.’
‘He has been most kind, making arrangements about getting Ogden’s portrait painted. But, bother Lord Mountry. How did we get sidetracked on to him? Tell me how you got Ogden away.’
Cynthia yawned.
‘It was extraordinarily easy, as it turned out, you see.’
‘Ogden, darling,’ observed Mrs Ford, ‘don’t go away. I want you near me.’
‘Oh, all right.’
‘Then stay by me, angel-face.’
‘Oh, slush!’ muttered angel-face beneath his breath. ‘Say, I’m darned hungry,’ he added.
It was if an electric shock had been applied to Mrs Ford. She sprang to her feet.
‘My poor child! Of course you must have some lunch. Ring the bell, Cynthia. I’ll have them send up some here.’
‘I’ll have -mine- here,’ said Cynthia.
‘Oh, you’ve had no lunch either! I was forgetting that.’
‘I thought you were.’
‘You must both lunch here.’
‘Really,’ said Cynthia, ‘I think it would be better if Ogden had his downstairs in the restaurant.’
‘Want to talk scandal, eh?’
‘Ogden, -dearest!-‘ said Mrs Ford. ‘Very well, Cynthia. Go, Ogden. You will order yourself something substantial, marvel-child?’
‘Bet your life,’ said the son and heir tersely.
There was a brief silence as the door closed. Cynthia gazed at her friend with a peculiar expression.
‘Well, I did it, dear,’ she said.
‘Yes. It’s splendid. You’re a wonder, darling.’
‘Yes,’ said Cynthia.
There was another silence.
‘By the way,’ said Mrs Ford, ‘didn’t you say there was a little thing, a small bill, that was worrying you?’
‘Did I mention it? Yes, there is. It’s rather pressing. In fact, it’s taking up most of the horizon at present. Here it is.’
‘Is it a large sum?’ Mrs Ford took the slip of paper and gave a slight gasp. Then, coming to the bureau, she took out her cheque-book.