Another ten minutes passed.
"I'm famishing," said Sally Perceval. "I've been at the Bath Club diving,
and I do so want my grub. Let's skip in."
"It really is too bad--oh, here she comes!" said Mrs. Wolfstein.
Many heads in the Palm Court were turned towards the stairs, down which a
demure figure was walking with extreme slowness. The big young man with
the round face got up from his chair and looked greedy, and the waiters
standing by the desk just inside the door glanced round, whispered, and
smiled quickly before gliding off to their different little tables.
Pimpernel Schley was alone, but she moved as if she were leading a quiet
procession of vestal virgins. She was dressed in white, with a black
velvet band round her tiny waist and a large black hat. Her shining,
straw-coloured hair was fluffed out with a sort of ostentatious innocence
on either side of a broad parting, and she kept her round chin tucked
well in as she made what was certainly an effective entrance. Her arms
hung down at her sides, and in one hand she carried a black fan. She wore
no gloves, and many diamond rings glittered on her small fingers, the
rosy nails of which were trimmed into points. As she drew near to Mrs.
Wolfstein's party she walked slower and slower, as if she felt that she
was arriving at a destination much too soon.
Lady Holme watched her as she approached, examined her with that piercing
scrutiny in which the soul of one woman is thrust out, like a spear,
towards the soul of another.
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