"Horrid speech," she remarked, looking into the teapot she had forgotten to fill with water, "isn't it, Théo?"
But Théo only laughed and shrugged his shoulders. His father was his father, and except in little matters, such as satin and too flamboyant ties, not to be even mentally criticised.
"But it is true, my dear," continued Joyselle, the mischief suddenly gone from his face, a shrewd look of inquiry taking its place. "You are going to marry into a peasant family, you know." Another change of mood! He was severe now and disapproving.
She held up her head. "No one could call Théo a peasant, could they, Duchess?"
Joyselle understood, and with bewildering rapidity again changed. "Bravo!" he cried, laughing heartily. "You are marrying the son, you mean, not the father. C'est vrai, c'est vrai!"
His utter unconsciousness was a great blessing, no doubt, but at that moment it nearly maddened her. Was he blind?
Apparently he was, as he drank some mineral water and talked to the Duchess.
The arrival of Lady Brinsley's poor dear Mr. Smith, the vicar, was the next mild event of the day, and as his head too was filled with coals and blankets, the story of the abominable coal-dealer had again to be listened to and lamented over.
"The very worst coals I ever saw in my life, positively, are they not, Lady Brinsley?"
"Eh, yes, Mr. Smith, quite too shocking. Nothing but dust, Duchess, positively."