Before the earl could reply, a cabinet minister came up and engaged him in conversation, and the countess rose and crossed the room to where an elderly lady sat with a portfolio of engravings before her. It was the Dowager Countess of Longford, a tiny little woman with a thin wrinkled face, and keen but kindly gray eyes that lit up her white face and made it remarkable.
She was dressed as simply as a quakeress, excepting for some old and priceless lace which softened the rigor of her plainly made gray satin dress. She looked up as the younger countess approached, and made room for her on the sofa.
Lady Wyndward sat down in silence, which was unbroken for a minute. Then the old countess said without looking at her—
"The boy grows handsomer every day, Ethel!"
Lady Wyndward sighed.
"What is the matter?" asked the other, with a keen smile. "What has he been doing now, burning a church or running off with a Lord Mayor's daughter?"
"He has not been doing anything very much," answered Lady Wyndward. "Except losing some money."
The old countess raised her eyebrows lightly.
"That does not matter."
"Not much. No, he has not been doing anything; I wish he would. That's what is the matter."