"But as to Harry de Freyne?... And shall you allow your wife to dance with him in that costume?"
"Of course—why not? And—doesn't Valentia look—jolly?"
"I think the scarlet with her golden hair is rather too—striking," she answered spitefully.
"Oh, she's all right!"
"I think you're all mad!" she answered as she reached the door.
The servant opened it.
"Oh, we're all right. Good night, mother. You'll be late for the Trott-Hellyers."
Drawing her cloak over her narrow shoulders, Mrs. Wyburn stepped angrily into the brougham.
Although it was only three doors from her son's house, she would not for the world have walked.
When she arrived there, still in a very bad temper at all she had seen, she nevertheless boasted to her neighbour about how remarkably distinguished and handsome her son and daughter-in-law had looked in costume, and of their success, charm, perfect domestic happiness, and importance and perfection generally.