THE LAND OF MOCKERY
[!-- H2 anchor --] CHAPTER XVIII.
"There's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys."
MACBETH.
"I think," said Mrs. Rush-Marvelle deliberately, laying down the Morning Post beside her breakfast-cup, "I think his conduct is perfectly disgraceful!"
Mr. Rush-Marvelle, a lean gentleman with a sallow, clean-shaven face and an apologetic, almost frightened manner, looked up hastily.
"Of whom are you speaking, my dear?" he inquired.
"Why, of that wretched young man Bruce-Errington! He ought to be ashamed of himself!"
And Mrs. Marvelle fixed her glasses more firmly on her small nose, and regarded her husband almost reproachfully. "Don't tell me, Montague, that you've forgotten that scandal about him! He went off last year, in the middle of the season, to Norway, in his yacht, with three of the very fastest fellows he could pick out from his acquaintance—regular reprobates, so I'm told—and after leading the most awful life out there, making love to all the peasant girls in the place, he married one of them,—a common farmer's daughter. Don't you remember? We saw the announcement of his marriage in the Times."