Тринадцать гостей / Thirteen Guests

”

A desire swept through John to ask, “And what do you live for?” But he quelled the impulse, and asked instead:

“Are any big things going to happen this week-end?”

She regarded him quizzically for a few moments, then replied, “I shouldn’t wonder.”

She turned and nodded to the pretty maid, who had reappeared with another highly-polished little tray gleaming with yellow china. The second tray was deposited beside the first tray. As the maid departed, Nadine’s eyes followed her.

“Pretty, isn’t she?” said Nadine.

“Very,” answered John.

Two people came down the staircase. Harold Taverley and Anne. The signs of the road were no longer upon them, and both had changed to indoor clothes, but John noticed that Anne still favoured green. She was wearing a rather severe, close-cut frock that indicated without exploiting her slim boyish figure. Her dark hair was neat and smooth, and slightly waved. John gained an odd impression as she ran forward to greet Nadine that, while conceding to the moment, her real spirit was elsewhere.

“Nice to see you again, Nadine,” she exclaimed. “Wasn’t the last time Cannes?”

“Yes—drinking coffee at the Galerie Fleuries,” answered Nadine. “Did you have a good run?”

“Wonderful! You must try my new mare. She goes over everything.”

“I’d love to. But you’ll want her to-morrow?”

“Please! You can have Jill, though. We’ve still got her, and you always liked her, didn’t you?” She turned to John.

“It’s the penalty of being a pampered invalid,” replied John; “and I don’t mind it at all. My foot’s fine, thank you. But I’m afraid it wouldn’t be well enough to join you to-morrow.”

“Beastly shame,” said Anne. “Never mind, we’ll fix you up with jig-saw puzzles. Let me know if I can do anything, won’t you? See you later, Nadine. Come along, Harold.”

Taverley smiled at John.

“We’d stay, but you’re being looked after,” he remarked. “Be good to him, Nadine.”

When they were alone again, Nadine frowned.

“Beastly man, that Mr. Taverley,” she observed. “He’s so hatefully nice!”

“I like him, too,” replied John. “Is niceness a vice?”

“Yes—like water. You must have something with it.”

“I imagine he’s got a lot with it.”

“Rather. All the virtues, and a perfect off-drive.