Part 74 (1/2)
There was incredulity in the tone.
”Upon my honour as the wife of a British Dragoon.”
He said crisply:
”Precipitate publication, even of authentic information, is likely to be resented by the persons concerned.”
She remembered, with a sinking at the heart, that one person concerned had already objected.
”Both of them authorised the insertion.”
”And the official consent to it was obtained by a trick.”
She whispered, her heart in the heels of her Louis Quinze shoes:
”Please--please don't call it that!”
”How can I call it anything else? Besides, has it occurred to you that, should any copies of to-day's issue get through these lines, the Foltlebarres will be thrown into a state of volcanic eruption?”
”If the Foltlebarres aren't absolute beetles they'll jump for joy. How could their boy possibly do better?”
”I don't see how myself.”
”Ah, if you're going to back up Toby, the day is as good as won.”
”You're very kind to say so.”
The red was dying out of Lady Hannah's ear-tips. That ”You're very kind”
had a gratified sound. The most rigorous and implacable of men can be b.u.t.tered, she thought, if the emollient be dexterously applied. And a bright spark of naughty triumph snapped in each of her birdlike black eyes.
”Thanks.” He was speaking again. ”Apologies for keeping you. You're up to your eyes in Hospital work, I don't doubt.”
”There is enough to keep one going.”
”Without the additional tax of literary labour.” She was conscious of a premonitory, apprehensive chill that travelled from the roots of her hair down her spine, and apparently made its exit at the heels of her Louis Quinze shoes. ”So the 'Social Jottings' column will not appear in the _Siege Gazette_ after to-day. Good-morning.”
”Is that my punishment for insubordination?”
Not a sound in reply. ”He must have hung up the receiver and gone away.
Oh, horrid, horrid male superiority!” thought Lady Hannah. ”To have been put under arrest, even to have been ordered out and shot, would be preferable to being figuratively spanked and put in the corner.” She winked away some more tears, and sniffed a little dejectedly. ”And only the other day he seemed quite pleased with me,” she added pensively. Then she shrugged her shoulders, and rang up the Head Hospital, North Veld Road.
”Who you-e?”
It was the sing-song voice of the Barala hall-boy.
”I'm Lady Hannah Wrynche. Is the Reverend Mother on duty in the wards to-day?”
”I go see. You hang-e on.”