“A ladies’ party, a conversazione.”
“What—by my mother’s wish?”
“I was given to understand that I had carte blanche in visiting matters.”
“You did not ask her consent?”
“I saw no occasion.”
“You did not?”
“No.”
“Then, Cecil, I must say that whatever you may have to complain of, you have committed a grave act of disrespect.”
“I was told that I was free to arrange these things!”
“Free!” said Raymond, thoroughly roused; “free to write notes, and order the carriage, and play lady of the house; but did you think that made you free to bring an American mountebank of a woman to hold forth absurd trash in my mother’s own drawing-room, as soon as my back was turned?”