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He will be laughed at wherever he goes!" Mr. Rush-Marvelle scratched his bony chin perplexedly. "It makes it a little awkward for for you," he remarked feelingly. "Awkward! It is abominable!" And Mrs. Marvelle rose from her chair, and shook out the voluminous train of her silken breakfast-gown, an elaborate combination of crimson with grey chinchilla fur.
Marvelle, summoning her timid husband from some far corner, where he had remained in hiding, took her departure with much stateliness. A great many people were going down to supper by this time, but Sir Philip was tired of the heat and glare and noise, and whispered as much to Thelma, who at once advanced to bid her hostess farewell. "Won't you have some supper?" inquired her ladyship.
Van Clupp laid her plump, diamond-ringed hand on that of her dear friend, Mrs. Marvelle. "You have managed the whole thing beautifully," she said, with a grateful heave of her ample bosom. "Such a clever creature as you are!" She dropped her voice to a mysterious whisper. "You shall have that cheque to-morrow, my love!" Mrs. Rush-Marvelle pressed her fingers cordially.
Clara laughed harshly and played with her fan. "Dear me, Mimsey! . . . you are perfectly outrageous! Do you think I'm an ogress ready to eat her up? On the contrary, I mean to be a friend to her." Mrs. Marvelle still looked grave. "I'm glad to hear it," she said; "only some friends are worse than declared enemies." Lady Winsleigh shrugged her shoulders.
She had a great friendship for him, one of those emotional, perfectly spiritual and innocent attachments, I believe, which are so rare in this wicked world." Mrs. Marvelle sighed, then suddenly becoming practical again, she continued. "Yes, I shall go there and stop to luncheon, and talk this thing over. Then I'll drive on to the Van Clupps, and bring Marcia home to dinner.
Marvelle!" he drawled lazily, addressing himself first to the elder lady, who responded somewhat curtly, then leaning his arms on the carriage door, he fixed Lady Winsleigh with a sleepy stare of admiration. "And how is our Clara? Looking charming, as usual! By Jove! Why weren't you here ten minutes ago? You never saw such a sight in your life! Thought the whole Row was going crazy, 'pon my soul!"
Marvelle looked most impressive "not a soul has been invited to the Manor not a living soul! The house used to be full of people during the winter season of course, now, he dare not ask anybody lest they should be shocked at his wife's ignorance. That's as clear as daylight! And now he has the impudence to actually bring her here, into society! Good Heavens! He must be mad!
"Read that," and the lady handed the Morning Post across the table, indicating by a dent of her polished finger-nail, the paragraph that had offended her sense of social dignity. Mr. Marvelle read it with almost laborious care though it was remarkably short and easy of comprehension. "Sir Philip and Lady Bruce-Errington have arrived at their house in Prince's Gate from Errington Manor."
Marvelle said nothing, though she too was more or less curious to see the "peasant" addition to the circle of fashionable society, and when they entered the Park, both she and Lady Winsleigh kept a sharp look-out for the first glimpse of the quiet grey and silver of the Bruce-Errington liveries.
Presently there came a tap at the door, and the gorgeous Briggs entered. He held himself like an automaton, and spoke as though repeating a lesson. "His lordship's compliments, and will her la'ship lunch in the dining-room to-day?" "No," said Lady Winsleigh curtly. "Luncheon for myself and Mrs. Marvelle can be sent up here." Briggs still remained immovable.
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