It had a way of absenting itself when wanted. No one was
announced as an Honorable. It did not even appear on cards. It might he
overlooked. Rank, to be of any practical value, must be apparent,
obvious. Lady Georgiana Pratt, Lady Evelina Pratt! Any name would do
with that prefix. His eye travelled as far as Sybell and stopped again.
She was "the right sort" herself, and she dressed in the right way. Why
could not Ada and Selina imitate her? But he had never forgiven her the
fact that he had met "a crew of cads" at her house, whom he had been
obliged to cut afterwards in the Row. No, Sybell would not have done for
him. She surrounded herself with vulgar people.
Captain Pratt was far too well-mannered to be guilty of staring, except
at pretty maid-servants or shop-girls, and his eye was moved on by the
rigid police of etiquette which ruled his every movement. It paused
momentarily on Rachel. He knew about her, as did every bachelor in
London. A colossal heiress. She was neither plain nor handsome. She had
a good figure, but not good enough to counterbalance her nondescript
face. She had not the air of distinction which he was so quick to detect
and appraise. She was a social nonentity. He did not care to look at her
a second time. "I would not marry her with twice her fortune," he said
to himself.
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