Free Devil's Wind by Patricia Wentworth Page B

dinner, and to making friends with Captain Blake. She found him hard to talk to, but she liked his shy ways, his deep-set eyes, and his obvious devotion to Richard Morton.
    â€œRichard must find it curious, being here with his old regiment,” she said, after a while.
    â€œHe’s a deserter, and ought to be court-martialled,” said Captain Blake abruptly. Then he looked rather alarmed, and tried to cut through the bone of a cutlet. “Oh, you know, I don’t really mean that, Miss Wilmot,” and Helen laughed.
    â€œI’ll tell him,” she said, and George Blake began to think her a charming person. In a vague, absent-minded manner he admired the way in which she screwed up her eyes when she laughed. He thought it made her look much younger. Suddenly he became aware that he was staring, and he blushed and made haste to say:
    â€œWe’ve all told him. It’s no good. And now he is the high and mighty Civil official, and much too grand for the poor old regiment.”
    â€œAnd you don’t really mean that either, do you?” said Miss Wilmot, and after that they talked about Richard, and Richard’s doings, until Dr. Darcy insisted on his share of Helen’s attention.
    After dinner she found herself next to a pretty little dark-eyed woman, with smoothly banded hair.
    â€œI am Mrs. Monson; my husband commands the 11th Irregulars,” said this little lady. She had a very friendly smile. “It seems rather odd we should meet here,” she went on, “I mean it’s odd because we live next door to each other, and this is a mile away.”
    â€œOh, is yours the house with the roses?” exclaimed Helen.
    â€œYes,” said the little lady, dimpling. “Aren’t they nice? I am so fond of them. We have been here for two years, and I have begged, borrowed, and stolen cuttings from every compound in the place. We all love flowers.”
    â€œI think I have seen your little girl in the distance,” said Helen.
    Mrs. Monson laughed— a funny little laugh, with a gurgle in it.
    â€œOh! She won’t remain in the distance, I am afraid. We can’t keep her in our own garden. She will go off and pay calls! I only hope she won’t bother you, Mrs. Morton.”
    Helen started.
    â€œBut I’m Miss Wilmot,” she said quickly, and Mrs. Monson blushed scarlet.
    â€œMy dear Miss Wilmot, what a stupid mistake! I am so short-sighted, you know, and I never noticed who went in to dinner with whom, and you are so much taller than your cousin, and—and—”
    Afterwards she confided in Captain Monson:
    â€œJames, wasn’t it foolish? You can’t think how silly I felt, but she sat there looking so handsome and composed, and the other little creature had just fluttered out on to the verandah with Mr. Purslake, all smiles and blushes, and mauve and white ribbons, so of course I thought she was the unmarried one.”
    â€œWhich shows you don’t listen to gossip, Lizzie,” said Captain Monson, and his wife blushed and said:
    â€œAnd why should I, sir?”
    Mrs. Crowther had also watched Adela disappear into the soft dusk of the verandah. This was exactly the sort of behaviour that she had been led to expect. Mr. Purslake too—who had obviously joined the ladies early, in order to have a word with Carrie. Adela had intercepted him, in the most brazen way, and was walking away with her prize in a manner which bespoke considerable practice.
    â€œI am sure your garden looks perfectly sweet by moonlight,” she murmured as she passed her hostess, and Mrs. Crowther became crimson.
    â€œWorse than I expected,” she said in an awful undertone to Mrs. Marsh. “Worse, much worse. I regret having called. Levity I was prepared for, heartlessness I anticipated. It did not for an instant surprise me that she should be in colours so soon after Colonel Wilmot’s death, no—but some slight respect for