“Lady Bloss is quite too amusing,” she remarked, after she had sped that lady most affectionately, and asked her why she had not been to see her for such ages? “She is no more cousin to Lady Hildegarde than to the man in the moon; her husband was an old Indian judge, a K. C. B. She and Lady Hildegarde have the same dressmaker, and that is positively the only connection.”
“Oh yes, excuse me,” said her friend; “Lady Bloss’s uncle married a cousin of Lady Hildegarde’s aunt by marriage.”
“Oh, spare my poor stupid head!” cried Mrs. Cholmondeley. “I call that a conundrum, not a connection; don’t you, Mrs. Hayes?”
Emma smiled sympathetically; she hated riddles.
“I am sure the politics and parties of our Little Pedlington will amuse a woman of the world like you. Do you care for driving?”
Emma admitted that she liked it—in fine weather.
“Then I shall come some afternoon early and take you out. Will Monday suit you, at two o’clock?”
“Thank you, it is very kind of you.”
“And your daughter, too; there will be plenty of room. I hope two o’clock is not interfering with your dinner hour?”