Part 30 (1/2)

”Well, of course,” says Mrs. Chichester. ”Such nonsense condemning it! As if anybody worried about impropriety nowadays. Why, it has gone out of fas.h.i.+on. It is an exploded essence. n.o.body gives it a thought.”

”That is _fatally true,”_ says old Miss Gower in a sepulchral tone.

She has been sitting in a corner near them, knitting sedulously until now. But now she uplifts her voice. She uplifts her eyes, too, and fixes them on Mrs. Chichester the frivolous. ”Do your own words never make you s.h.i.+ver?” asks she austerely.

”Never,” gaily; ”I often wish they would in warm weather.”

Miss Gower uprears herself.

”Be careful, woman! be careful!” says she gloomily. ”There is a warmer climate in store for some of us than has been ever known on earth!”

She turns aside abruptly, and strides from the room.

Randal Gower gives way to mirth, and so do most of the others. Mrs.

Chichester, it is true, laughs a little, but t.i.ta can see that the laughter is somewhat forced.

She goes quickly up to her and slips her hand into hers.

”Don't mind her,” says she. ”As if a little word here and there would count, when one has a good heart, and I know you have one. We shall all go to heaven, I think, don't you? Don't mind what she hinted about--about that other place, you know.”

”Eh?” says Mrs. Chichester, staring at her as if astonished.

”I _saw_ you didn't like it,” says t.i.ta.

”Well, I didn't,” says Mrs. Chichester, pouting.

”No, of course, one wouldn't.”

”One wouldn't what?”

”Like to be told that one would have to go to--_you_ know.”

”Oh, I see,” says Mrs. Chichester, with some disgust. ”Is that what you mean? Oh, I shouldn't care a fig about that!”

”About what, then?” asks t.i.ta anxiously.

”Well, I didn't like to be called _a woman!”_ says Mrs. Chichester, frowning.

”Oh!” says t.i.ta.

”Lady Rylton, where are you? You said you were going to get up blind man's buff,” cries someone at this moment.

”Yes, yes, indeed. Maurice, will you come and help us?” says t.i.ta, seeing her husband, and going to him gladly, as a means of getting out of her ridiculous interview with Mrs. Chichester, which has begun to border on burlesque.

”Certainly,” says Sir Maurice; he speaks rapidly, eagerly, as if desirous of showing himself devoted to any project of hers.

”Well, then, come on--come on,” cries she, gaily beckoning to her guests right and left, and carrying them off, a merry train, to the ball-room.

”Now, who'll be blinded first?” asks Mr. Gower, who has evidently const.i.tuted himself Master of the Ceremonies.

”You!” cries Miss Hescott.