“Yes, I think we did meet once, didn’t we?” said Muriel.
Mrs. Bindane intervened. “Yes, don’t you remember? At the pictures, when we were keeping company. We got wed at our chapel ten days ago—such a to-do as you never saw! And afterwards a real beano at the Fried Fish Shop: beer by the barrel, and port too! And Pa gave me away, in his evening dress, red handkerchief and all!”
Such was her peculiar and characteristic way of referring to the fact that she had introduced Muriel to her fiancé one night at Covent Garden, and that she had been married to him at St. Margaret’s, Westminster, where she had been given away by her father, Lord Voycey, a reception being later held at her paternal home in Berkeley Square.
“I didn’t know you were coming out here,” said Muriel. “It’s splendid.”
“We only decided on Egypt at the last minute,” explained Mr. Bindane. “Kate was so anxious to go up the Nile.”
“It’s a blinkin’ fine river, I’m told,” remarked his wife, at which he smiled reprovingly.
Her friend’s language was notorious, though actually she seldom approached an oath except in mimicry. She was a woman of five-and-twenty, and for seven years she had delighted London with her pretended vulgarity. Her husband, on the other hand, was more or less unknown to the metropolis, though, as the inheritor from his father of an enormous fortune, his name had lately been heard in Mayfair, while in the City it was well known. People said he was a fool; and everybody supposed that the eccentric Kate had married him for his money. As a matter of fact, she had married him for love.
“Where are you staying?” Muriel asked.
“We’ve got a little paddle-wheeled steamer on the river,” he replied. “We arrived last night.”
“And of course we came round to see you at once,” said Kate. “Benifett’s rather a snob, you know: loves lords and ladies. So do I. How’s your pa?”