Your god-child is
a love."
"H'm. And how is the horrid little adopted one?"
"Poor Pammy!"
"Now _will_ you look at Lady Agnes Blundell spilling coffee all over my
carpet. She did the same thing the other night at the Beaufoys'! I
really believe the woman drinks, or something. What were you saying, my
dear? Oh, how is your young man?"
Brigit did not smile. To-morrow was coming.
"I--I haven't seen any young men since I got back, Duchess."
"Oh, well, you tell him from me that his father is a wretch. Is there a
wife? I think someone said there was--well, she probably doesn't know
all _I_ know." The old woman pulled down her mouth in comic disapproval.
"What--is it?" queried Brigit.
"Oh, nothing, only--a very beautiful foreign actress, a lady famous for
her--plastic beauties. Voisin, my hairdresser--you know Voisin?
Delightful person, and the most indiscreet man in London--tells me they
dined together every evening at a little French place near Leicester
Square, where _he_ dines. And it appears your future papa-in-law was
furiously _epris_, or still is--possibly! You will have to keep him in
order. What is it, Bishop?"
The butler, whose name, the Duchess had been known to declare, explained
why no Anglican or other prelate ever dined or lunched with her--"It is
so confusing, my dear; suppose I should say 'Bishop, see if Mrs.
Pages:
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141