I had no objection to his calling it by that name, and I took my leave, very much pleased with the result of the interview. But, as luck would have it, while I was pursuing my way across Hyde Park—for Phroso was staying with a friend of Mrs Beverley’s in Kensington—I ran plump into the arms of Mrs Kennett Hipgrave.
She stopped me with decision. I confess that I tried to pass by her.
‘My dear Lord Wheatley,’ she cried, with unbounded cordiality, ‘how charming to meet you again! Your reported death really caused quite a gloom.’
‘You’re too good!’ I murmured. ‘Ah—er—I hope Miss Beatrice is well?’
Mrs Kennett Hipgrave’s face grew grave and sympathetic.
‘My poor child!’ she sighed. ‘She was terribly upset by the news, Lord Wheatley. Of course, it seemed to her peculiarly sad; for you had received my letter only a week before.’
‘That must have seemed to aggravate the pathos very much,’ I agreed.
‘Not that, of course, it altered the real wisdom of the step I advised her to take.’
‘Not in the least, really, of course,’ said I.