“It seems to me you are never at home,” said Emma.
“No one ever is at home now. Home is the last place in which to look for people in these days. A great rage for rambling has seized old and young. We migrate to the South of Europe for the winter, show ourselves in town for a few weeks in the spring, and then start off again. I think the old people are far the worst—they set the example. I tell my mother she is like the wandering Jew.”
“Does Lady Hildegarde never come to town?”
“No, not the last two years.” Then, looking over at me; “Did you have a good time this season, Miss Hayes?”
“A good time!” repeated Emma. “Why, the poor child has never been anywhere. You forget——”
“Yes—yes, of course; you could not take her. I wish my mother had been in London,” he continued genially. “She would have been delighted to have chaperoned her to no end of smart functions, and presented Miss Hayes at a drawing-room.”
It was quite clear that this young man did not realize the fatal change in our circumstances.
“She has never been anywhere,” continued Emma—“never been to a dance, or a race-meeting——”
“There is Sandown to-morrow. I’m a member; will you come with me? I can take two ladies. It ought to be a capital day: Eclipse Stakes, you know. I’ll meet you at Waterloo——”