The Colonel, pinker than ever in his perfection,
lowered his eyes as she approached. She paused again in her progress
beside the clergyman on her right. He looked severely at her, as much as
to say, "Madam, if you drop that thing in _my_ neighbourhood, I shall
not attempt to pick it up."

An obsequious waiter pointed out a table next to the middle-aged
ladies. She shook her head at the middle-aged ladies. She turned in her
course, and her eyes met Lucy's. He said something to his sister. Jane
rose and changed her seat, thus clearing the way to a table that stood
beside theirs, empty, secluded in the bay of the window.

The lady in black came swiftly, as if to the place of her desire. The
glance that expressed her gratitude went from Lucy to Jane and from Jane
to Lucy, and rested on him for a moment.

As the four grouped themselves at their respective tables, the lady in
white, seated with her back to the window, commanded a front and side
view of Jane. The lady in black sat facing Lucy.

She put her elbows on the table and turned her face (her profile was
remarkably pretty) to her companion.

"Well," said she, "don't you want to sit here?"

"Oh," said the older woman, "what does it matter where we sit?"

She spoke in a small, crowing voice, the voice, Lucy said to himself, of
a rather terrible person. She shivered.

"Poor lamb, does it feel a draught down its little back?"

The lady rose and put her fur tippet on the shivering shoulders. They
shrank from her, and she drew it closer and fastened it with caressing
and cajoling fingers. There was about her something impetuous and
perverse, a wilful, ungovernable tenderness. Her hands had the swiftness
of things moved by sweet, disastrous impulses.

The white person (she was quite terrible) undid the fastening and shook
her shoulders free of the fur. It slid to the floor for the third time.

Lucy rose from his place, picked up the fur and restored it to its
owner.

The quite terrible person flushed with vexation.

"You see," said the lady, "the trouble you've given that nice man."

"Oh don't! he'll hear you."

"If he does, he won't mind," said the lady.

He did hear her. It was difficult not to hear, not to look at her, not
to be interested in every movement that she made. Her charm, however,
was powerless over her companion.

Their voices, to Lucy's relief, sank low. Then suddenly the companion
spoke.

"Of course," said she, "if you _want_ all the men