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Mitchett!" the butler, appearing at the door, almost familiarly dropped; after which Vanderbank turned straight to the person announced. Mr. Mitchett was there, and, anticipating Mrs. Brook in receiving him, her companion passed it straighten. "She's magnificent!" Mitchy was already all interest. "Rather! But what's her last?"
As to reward him for an indulgence that she must much more have divined than overheard the visitor approached him with her sweet bravery of alarm. "I go on Thursday to my sister's, where I shall find Nanda Brookenham. Can I take her any message from you?" Mr. Mitchett showed a rosiness that might positively have been reflected. "Why should you dream of her expecting one?"
But you'll know what I mean, all the same, I think, when I tell you that there are lots I spare YOU!" Mr. Mitchett fairly glowed with the candour of his attention. "Know what you mean, dearest lady?
"That have even perhaps a little, after the warnings, let one down?" She took no notice of this coarse pleasantry, she simply adhered to her thesis. "One has taken one's dose and one isn't such a fool as to be deaf to some fresh true note if it happens to turn up. But for abject horrid unredeemed vileness from beginning to end " "So you read to the end?" Mr. Mitchett interposed.
"Do you positively swear?" she asked with intensity as she helped him. Then without waiting for his answer: "You have the common charity to US, I suppose, to see the position you'd put us in. Fancy Edward!" she quite austerely threw off. Mr. Mitchett, at this, had on his side a wonder. "Does Edward imagine ?" "My dear man, Edward never 'imagined' anything in life." She still had her eyes on him.
"She doesn't take a guinea at the time, but you may still get your account," the Duchess returned. "Of course we know that the great business she does is in husbands and wives." "This then seems the day of the wives!" Mr. Mitchett interposed as he became aware, the first, of the illustration the Duchess's image was in the act of receiving.
And her voice had a real note of entreaty. The girl shook her head. Mrs. Mitchett murmured dolefully: "That's 'ow she is, sir; not a word will she say. And as I tell her, we can only think there must 'ave been more than one. And that does put us to shame so!" But still the girl made no sign. "You speak to her, sir; I'm really at my wit's end." "Why won't you tell us?" said Pierson.
Longdon, who, as compared with her, might have struck a spectator as infernally subtle, took an instant to think. "I've never met Mr. Mitchett before." "Well, he always thinks one doesn't like him," Nanda explained. "But one does. One ought to," she added. Her companion had another pause. "He likes YOU." Oh Mr. Longdon needn't have hesitated! "I know he does. He has told mother.
This impenetrability and something mulish in her attitude annoyed him. "I can't think," he said, "how you could so have forgotten yourself. It's truly grievous." Mrs. Mitchett murmured: "Yes, sir; the girls gets it into their heads that there's going to be no young men for them." "That's right," said the girl sullenly. Pierson's lips grew tighter. "Well, what can I do for you, Mrs.
Brook, so nearly and engaging so your private and most sacred sentiments. What are we playing with, after all, but the idea of Nanda's happiness?" "Oh I'm not playing!" Mrs. Brook declared with a little rattle of emotion. "She's not playing" Mr. Mitchett gravely confirmed it.
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