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She waited for about five minutes on a brown and yellow sofa near a table on which lay some books and several paper-knives, and then Mrs. Wolfstein appeared. She was dressed very smartly in blue and red, and looked either Oriental or Portuguese, as she came in. Lady Holme was not quite certain which.
Trent declared that they were abnormal, and that, till the end of time, women would always wish to be wives. Mrs. Wolfstein agreed with her on various grounds. One was that it was the instinct of woman to buy and to rule, and that if she were rich she could now acquire a husband as, in former days, people acquired slaves by purchase.
You a diplomatist!" She put her finger to her lips and got up. "We must look at something or Ashley Greaves will be furious." They made their way into the galleries, which were almost impassable. In the distance Lady Holme caught sight of Miss Schley with Mrs. Wolfstein. They were surrounded by young men. She looked hard at the American's pale face, saying to herself, "Is that like me?
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.
She felt angry with Miss Schley for resembling her in colouring, for resembling her in another respect capacity for remaining calmly silent in the midst of fashionable chatterboxes. "Will she?" she said to Mrs. Wolfstein. "Yes. If she'd never been shipwrecked she'd have been almost entertaining, but there's Sir Donald Ulford trying to attract your attention." "Where?"
Wolfstein murmured a word to him in passing, and they had not been sipping their coffee for more than two or three minutes before he joined them with his son. Sir Donald came up at once to Lady Holme. "May I present my son to you, Lady Holme?" he said. "Certainly." "Leo, I wish to introduce you to Lady Holme." Leo Ulford bowed rather ungracefully.
There were two Wolfstein children, a boy and a girl of eleven and twelve; small, swarthy, frog-like, self-possessed. They already spoke three languages, and their protruding eyes looked almost diseased with intelligence. The Wolfstein house, which was in Curzon Street, was not pretty, Apparently neither Mrs.
Men who wouldn't look at her when she was sixteen, twenty-six, thirty-six, worship her now she's sixty. And she weeps for her youth! Who else?" "Mrs. Wolfstein." "A daughter of Israel; coarse, intelligent, brutal to her reddened finger-tips. I'd trust her to judge a singer, actor, painter, writer. But I wouldn't trust her with my heart or half a crown." "Lady Manby." "Humour in petticoats.
Among those who bought them were most of the guests who had been present at the Holmes' dinner-party when Lady Holme lost her temper and was consoled by Robin Pierce. Robin of course was in Rome, but Lady Cardington, Lady Manby, Mrs. Wolfstein, Sir Donald, Mr. Bry took seats. Rupert Carey also bought a ticket.
Others looked mournfully fatuous, as if suddenly a prey to lasting and romantic grief. The older men were more impartial in their observation of Mrs. Wolfstein's guests. And all the women, without exception, fixed their eyes upon Lady Holme's hat. Lady Cardington, who seemed oppressed by grief, said to Mrs. Wolfstein: "Did you see that article in the Daily Mail this morning?" "Which one?"
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