bell-ringing, as nowadays it apparently can be from every other form of human activity, one might have hazarded the guess that whoever was on the other side of the door was determined, impetuous, and energetic. “Parker!” Freddie Rooke pushed a tousled head, which had yet to be brushed into the smooth sleekness that made it a delight to the public eye, out of a room down the passage. “Sir?” “Somebody ringing.” “I heard, sir. I was about to answer the bell.” “If it’s Lady Underhill, tell her I’ll be in in a minute.” “I fancy it is Miss Mariner, sir. I think I recognise her touch.” He made his way down the passage to the front-door, and opened it. A girl was standing outside. She wore a long gray fur coat, and a filmy gray hood covered her hair. As Parker opened the door, she scampered in like a gray kitten. “Brrh! It’s cold!” she exclaimed. “Hullo, Parker!” “Good evening, miss.” “Am I the last or the first or what?” Parker moved to help her with her cloak. “Sir Derek and her ladyship have not yet arrived, miss. Sir Derek went to bring her ladyship from the Savoy Hotel. Mr Rooke is dressing in his bedroom and will be ready very shortly.” The girl had slipped out of the fur coat, and Parker cast a swift glance of approval at her. He had the valet’s unerring eye for a thoroughbred, and Jill Mariner was manifestly that. It showed in her walk, in every move of her small, active body, in the way she looked at you, in the way she talked to you, in the little tilt of her resolute chin. Her hair was pale gold, and had the brightness of coloring of a child’s. Her face glowed, and her gray eyes sparkled. She looked very much alive. It was this aliveness of hers that was her chief charm. Her eyes were good and her mouth, with its small, even teeth, attractive, but she would have laughed if anybody had called her beautiful. She sometimes doubted if she were even pretty. Yet few men had met her and remained entirely undisturbed. She had a magnetism. One hapless youth, who had laid his heart at her
Prev.
Back
Top