"If people only spoke about what they attended to, how very little there would be to say,—eh, Mr. Bonteen?" This observation came, of course, from Lady Glencora.
"But as far as I could hear," continued Mr. Palliser, "Lord George Carruthers cannot possibly have had anything to do with it. It was a stupid mistake on the part of the police."
"I'm not quite so sure, Mr. Palliser," said Bonteen.
"I know Coldfoot told me so." Now Sir Harry Coldfoot was at this time Secretary of State for the Home affairs, and in a matter of such importance of course had an opinion of his own.
"We all know that he had money dealings with Benjamin, the Jew," said Mrs. Bonteen.
"Why didn't he come forward as a witness when he was summoned?" asked Mr. Bonteen triumphantly. "And as for the woman, does anybody mean to say that she should not have been indicted for perjury?"
"The woman, as you are pleased to call her, is my particular friend," said Lady Glencora. When Lady Glencora made any such statement as this,—and she often did make such statements,—no one dared to answer her. It was understood that Lady Glencora was not to be snubbed, though she was very much given to snubbing others. She had attained this position for herself by a mixture of beauty, rank, wealth, and courage;—but the courage had, of the four, been her greatest mainstay.
Then Lord Chiltern, who was playing billiards with Barrington Erle, rapped his cue down on the floor, and made a speech. "I never was so sick of anything in my life as I am of Lady Eustace. People have talked about her now for the last six months."
"Only three months, Lord Chiltern," said Lady Glencora, in a tone of rebuke.
"And all that I can hear of her is, that she has told a lot of lies and lost a necklace."