Mr. Wilsey laughed, and shook his finger.
“Just because she doesn’t know them. That, I’m afraid, is the rub. That’s what I usually find lies behind the socialism of socialists—the sense of being excluded. This poor lady has evidently very little usage du monde. It is her pitiful little protest, dear Madam, against your charm, your background, your grand manner.”
They sank upon an ample sofa near the fire, and though the other end of the large room was chilly, Lanley and Mrs. Wayne moved thither with a common impulse.
Mrs. Wayne turned almost tearfully to Lanley.
“I’m so sorry I’ve spoiled your party,” she said.
“You’ve done much worse than that,” he returned gravely.
“O Mr. Lanley,” she wailed, “what have I done?”
“You’ve spoiled a friendship.”
“Between you and me?”
He shook his head.