"Only pretty well. Mrs. Norton and Mrs. Long have been squabbling, and Captain Prescott has thrown up his part. He won't act; I cannot imagine why he is so cross."
"But I know," said Mrs. Palgrave, with a laugh. "It is his liver. Whenever he has a touch of liver, he always becomes argumentative and cynical, and says no woman under forty is worth speaking to."
"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Mrs. Barwell, "then there is no one to suit him here—we are all too juvenile."
"Like Baby Charles, such a dear boy, who is acting with me," said Miss Richards. "He is so young, and so pleased with everything—hockey, cricket, racquets; he really should have a child's part."
"And what is his part?" asked Mrs. Barwell.
"Oh, he is my fiancé, but he can't make love a bit—although he is in love."
"Pray, how do you know, Dolly?" demanded her sister, and her tone was authoritative.
"Well, he wears a very badly knitted green tie, a shocking affair! I have remonstrated with him about it, and told him I will not be engaged to him unless he leaves it off; it entirely spoils his appearance, but he still clings to his green tie, and blushes when I chaff him, and looks quite hurt. I am perfectly convinced that she made it. Does anyone know," laughing and looking round the room, "a young lady in this neighbourhood who knits ties?"
Verona glanced instinctively at her sister and their eyes met. Dominga had been deeply interested in the conversation, and there was a tinge of colour in her cheeks which added to her appearance; she looked brilliantly handsome. Verona, aloof and ignored, had felt the irony of Mrs. Barwell's insolence eating into her very soul—and now rose to depart.
"What," cried her hostess, "why are you going away? you know—I asked you to tea."