'Yes, she overheard you talking to me that day in the summer, when we went for a picnic, and she foolishly never said a word about it, but made up her mind that she could not marry anyone, because she might go out of her mind, so she refused Jimmy at first, and all this time she has been making both him and herself miserable.'
'Miserable, who is miserable?' asks Lippa, coming in followed by Dalrymple.
'No one, I hope,' says he, 'ah, Lady Dadford,' he continues on catching sight of her, 'how do you do?'
'Better, thank you,' she replies, she always makes a point of answering that foolish question, and invariably does so by saying 'Better'—she has been better for so long that she must have reached a most perfect state of health by now. 'Really much better; I came here to congratulate you: Lippa, my dear, you cannot think how pleased I am,' this accompanied by a kiss.
Lippa cannot think of anything to say and therefore remains silent.
'Anne would have come with me,' rattles on the old lady, 'she sent you all sorts of messages, but she had to go to a cooking class, and she felt sure you would understand that it was a case of duty before pleasure.'
'I shouldn't have thought it was a duty for a Marquis' daughter to learn cooking,' thinks Jimmy and something in the merriment depicted in his eyes causes Philippa to cast a reproachful glance at him, and then to enter heart and soul into the question of the use of cooking classes; it is some time before the old lady rises to depart, and then, of course, Mabel thinks it necessary that the baby should be visited so they mount to the nursery.
'Well, and what was the cause of the withering glance you directed at me about ten minutes ago?' asks Dalrymple, when they are left alone, Lippa and he.
'You know quite well,' she replies, removing her boa and settling herself comfortably before the fire, her feet resting on the fender.
'I declare I do not,' says Dalrymple, regardless of speaking the truth, for he loves to see Lippa indignant.