“No; I wish I had left off. There is Mrs. Raymond Tufto. Did you see her at Nice, Madeline?”
“Oh yes; she went everywhere.”
“She is wearing that same flower toque. I am so sick of it,” cried Mrs. Veryphast, impatiently.
“Nevertheless she is one of the prettiest women in London,” observed Captain Vansittart. “She has such a saintly expression, and she looks so good.”
“She is a horribly heartless wretch. She goes off for months on the Continent, and leaves her children to nurses at home,” said Lady Rachel, viciously. “She has one dear little tot of two, that actually does not know her by sight.”
“It is quite the French fashion to board out babies,” remarked Mrs. Leach, who was invariably in opposition to Lady Rachel.
“Turn them out to walk like young hounds,” drawled Captain Vansittart.
“Mrs. Tufto, bad as she may be, is nothing to Lady Blazer,” continued Mrs. Leach, impressively. “She has a nursery full of girls, and yet, what do you think? When she was asked the other day to subscribe to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, she said, ‘Delighted! There is only one species of animal I loathe, and that’s a child.’”
“Oh, I say—come! I don’t believe that,” cried Mr. West, “of any woman—or even a man. I’m rather partial to nice small children myself.”
“Mr. Wynne,” said Lady Rachel, turning on him suddenly, “why are you so silent? You know it is your métier to talk.”