The Real Charlotte. 183 



except Mr. Hawkins, had dined, they did full justice to her 

 hospitality. That young gentleman toyed with a plate of 

 raspberries and cream and a cup of coffee, and spasmodically 

 devoted himself to Mrs. Rattray in a way that quite repaid 

 her for occasional lapses of attention. Francie was sitting 

 opposite to him, not at the table, where, indeed, there was 

 no room for her, but on a window-sill, where she was shar- 

 ing a small table with Mr. Lambert. They were partly 

 screened by the window curtains, but it seemed to Hawkins 

 that Lambert was talking a great deal and that she was eat- 

 ing nothing. Whatever was the subject of their conversation 

 they were looking very serious over it, and, as it progressed, 

 Francie seemed to get more and more behind her window 

 curtain. The general clamour made it impossible for him 

 to hear what they were talking about, and Mrs. Rattray's 

 demands upon his attention became more intolerable every 

 moment, as he looked at Francie and saw how wholly 

 another man was monopolising her. 



" And do you like being stationed here, Mr. Hawkins ? " 

 said Mrs. Rattray after a pause. 



" Eh ? what ? Oh yes, of course I do — awfully ! you're 

 all such delightful people, y'know ! " 



Mrs. Rattray bridled with pleasure at this audacity. 



" Oh, Mr. Hawkins, I'm afraid you're a terrible flatterer ! 

 Do you know that one of the officers of the Foragers said 

 he thought it was a beastly spawt ! " 



" Beastly what ? Oh yes, I see. I don't agree with him 

 at all ; I think it's a capital good spot." (Why did that old 

 ass, Mrs. Corkran, stick her great widow's cap just between 

 him and the curtain ? Francie had leaned forward and 

 looked at him that very second, and that infernal white tow- 

 row had got in his way.) 



Mrs. Rattray thought it was time to play her trump card. 



" I suppose you read a great deal, Mr. Hawkins ? Dr. 

 Rattray takes the — a — the Pink One I think he calls it — I 

 know, of course, it's only a paper for gentlemen," she added 

 hurriedly, " but I believe it's very comical, and the doctoi 

 would be most happy to lend it to you." 



Mr. Hawkins, whose Sunday mornings would have been 

 a blank without the solace of the Sporting Ti7nes, explained 

 that the loan was unnecessary, but Mrs. Rattray felt that she 



