“One that will make mother furious. Tony is a third son, in the Foreign Office, with only four hundred a year. His name is Anthony Goodrich, and he is good enough for Tito Dawson.”
“But sure, I thought that Dudley——” began Joseline.
“Would kindly throw the handkerchief to me?” continued Tito briskly. “No, no. Wait, and you will see that honour lies elsewhere, between Lady Agnes Shutter and”—with a significant smile—“another girl. Lady Agnes is stupid, but she has good manners, and a very clever mother.”
“Who else is coming?” resumed Joseline.
“Oh, quite a number. Mother has to crowd them all in now, because the pater loathes them; they smoke and gossip and gamble, and treat the house like a hotel. First of all there is the Honourable Gussie Tripp, a tremendous swell at bridge—they say she clears a thousand a year.”
“What, at cards? Ah, you’re humbugging me!”
“Yes, at cards.”
“Holy Saint Bridget!”
“Then there is Lady Boxhill, a very young elderly widow, rich, and fond of play and admiration. Lady Towton, rather pretty, with the most exquisite frocks—dreams! She won’t tell where she gets them in Vienna. And of course Teddy Boltover. Then Senor Bambinetto—an Italian prince, they say; but if I saw him behind an organ and a monkey I should not be a bit surprised; he is looking for a rich wife, age and appearance quite immaterial. I fancy he likes Lady Boxhill. I hate him; he pokes his nose into one’s face, and paws one! Colonel Wildairs, late of the Greens, a most distinguished officer. Sir Harry Coxford. Two cavalry men from Canterbury, and perhaps the great Dudley himself!”
“I’m glad he is coming,” said Joseline. “Anyhow I’ll have some one to speak to.”