Briggs still remained immovable. "His lordship wished to know if Master Hernest was to come to your la'ship before goin' out?"
"Certainly not!" and Lady Winsleigh's brows drew together in a frown. "The boy is a perfect nuisance!"
Briggs bowed and vanished. Mrs. Rush-Marvelle grew more and more restless. She was a good-hearted woman, and there was something in the nature of Clara Winsleigh that, in spite of her easy-going conscience, she could not altogether approve of.
"Do you never lunch with your husband, Clara?" she asked at last.
Lady Winsleigh looked surprised. "Very seldom. Only when there is company, and I am compelled to be present. A domestic meal would be too ennuyant! I wonder you can think of such a thing! And we generally dine out."
Mrs. Marvelle was silent again, and, when she did speak, it was on a less delicate matter.
"When is your great 'crush,' Clara?" she inquired, "You sent me a card, but I forget the date."
"On the twenty-fifth," replied Lady Winsleigh. "This is the fifteenth. I shall call on Lady Bruce-Errington"—here she smiled scornfully—"this afternoon—and to-morrow I shall send them their invitations. My only fear is whether they mayn't refuse to come. I would not miss the chance for the world! I want my house to be the first in which her peasant-ladyship distinguishes herself by her blunders!"
"I'm afraid it'll be quite a scandal!" sighed Mrs. Rush-Marvelle. "Quite! Such a pity! Bruce-Errington was such a promising, handsome young man!"
At that moment Briggs appeared again with an elegantly set luncheon-tray, which he placed on the table with a flourish.