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Updated: July 21, 2025
He moved on a few steps and bowed over the thin, over-bejewelled fingers of the Countess of Clanarton, an old lady whose vogue still remained unchallenged, although the publication of her memoirs had very nearly sent a highly respected publisher into prison. "Andrew," she exclaimed, "we are all so distressed about you! How dared you lose your election! You know my little fire-eating friend, I see.
As she turned back to him, he noticed with more complete appreciation the lines of her ample but graceful figure, the more remarkable because she was neither tall nor slim. "So that was your wife at Claridge's yesterday afternoon?" she remarked, a little abruptly. He assented in silence. Her eyes sought his speculatively. "I know that Lady Clanarton is a terrible gossip," she went on.
I keep in with her because when the revolution comes she is going to save me from the guillotine, aren't you, Nora?" "My revolution won't have anything to do with guillotines," the girl laughed back, "and if you really want to have a powerful friend at court, pin your faith on Mr. Tallente." Lady Clanarton shook her head. "I have known Andrew, my dear, since he was in his cradle," she said.
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