In a few seconds, as soon as the newcomers had been looked after and given the scraps, the party continued their interrupted conversation with redoubled animation. They all appeared to know one another intimately. Captain Waring had evidently fallen among old friends. They discussed people and places—to which the others were strangers—and Mrs. Bellett was particularly animated, and laughed incessantly—chiefly at her own remarks.
“And so Lalla Paske is going to her Aunt Ida? I thought Ida Langrishe hated girls. I wonder if she will be able to manage her niece, and what sort of a chaperon she will make?”
“A splendid one, I should say,” responded a man in a suit like a five-barred gate—“on the principle of set a thief to catch a thief.”
“And old Mother Brande, up at Shirani, is expecting a niece too. What fun it will be! What rivalry between her and Ida! What husband-hunting, and scheming, and match-making! It will be as good as one of Oscar Wilde’s plays. I am rather sorry that I shall not be there to see. I shall get people to write to me—you for one, Captain Waring,” and she nodded at him graciously.
Mark noticed his companion, who had been drinking water (deluded girl—railway station water), put down her glass hastily, and fix her eyes on Mrs. Bellett. No one could call her pale now.
“I wonder what Mrs. Brande’s niece will be like?” drawled her sister. “I wonder if she, like her aunt, has been in domestic service. He, he, he!” she giggled affectedly.
There was a general laugh, in the midst of which a clear treble voice was heard—
“If you particularly wish to know, I can answer that question.” It was the pale girl who was speaking.
Mrs. Coote simply glared, too astounded to utter a syllable.
“I was not aware that my aunt had ever been in domestic service; but I can relieve you at once of all anxiety about myself. I have never been in any situation, and this is the nearest approach I have ever made to the servants’ hall!”