I recollect. Weren’t you at school in Paris with Justina and Theophila, and afterwards——?
Mrs. Quinton Twelves.
Yes. Isn’t this interesting? Quinton, my husband, was confirmed by the Bishop of St. Olpherts! I never discovered it till we’d been married for ages—I mean, weeks and weeks—[gradually quailing under Mrs. Cloys’s gaze]—and then one day—he—he happened to see me kissing the sweetest photograph of you—and and—and——
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Twills, I understood from my sister there was a purely family gathering here this afternoon——
Mrs. Quinton Twelves.
[Offering her hand.] I—I have to go on elsewhere——
Mrs. Cloys.
[Detaining her hand.] My dear, you were extremely old when I last saw you, during your first season, in eighty-something; I pray, now you’re married, that you are—younger.
[They look at each other for a moment longer, then Mrs. Twelves withdraws her hand, and, after nodding to the others in a scared way, goes out silently. Claude follows her.