He hated singing women some degrees more than the rest of their sex, and above all Italian singing women, who never appreciated Handel. Cherry ventured to suggest that the lady was not Italian, but, if anything, Hungarian.
'Madam,' he answered in Johnsonian wrath, 'she is cosmopolitan, that is to say a half breed or quarter breed of everything, with neither home, nation, nor faith!'
'Do you know anything against her?' gravely asked Wilmet, with a view to the possible contingency of being desired to call upon her.
'I know enough in knowing her to be a second-rate prima donna. Faugh! Now and then comes a first-rate one who can't help it, and is as meek and simple as you might be; but when this sort of woman comes down as a favour, I know what that means! Who is to pay the debt you'll have?'
'They come for their expenses.'
He held up his hands. 'I'd ten times rather she came at a hundred guineas a night! Then you'd know what to be at! Whose doing is it?'
'My brother Edgar's.'
'Then I hope he is prepared to pay for it. That is, if she comes at all. You'll have a telegram to say she has a cold, and who is to announce it to an indignant audience?'
'I think you had better, Mr. Miles,' said Cherry daringly, 'for you will congratulate them upon it.'
'Isn't his face a caution?' whispered Bill to Lance. 'He never got such sauce before.'