"Oh, no; quite an old story amongst married women," said Cora, with her Karoo smile. "When a woman is really wicked, some renegade will always tell his dearest friend, or his wife, and then—short shrift for her."
Brookfield retired.
Mrs. Gruyère said:
"It's a scandal that he didn't marry May Mappin. And I know Charles Bramham was in love with her. What will he do now, I wonder?"
Mrs. Gruyère's voice was so penetrating that it often reached the ears of her victims. Bramham, coming up, answered her cheerfully.
"Oh, haven't you heard?" said he, grinning. "My dear Mrs. Haybittel is arriving from Paris to pay Durban a visit. Everyone is sure to make her as comfortable as they can—for fear she should make them as uncomfortable as she can. She says she's bringing out twelve trunks full of French gowns."
This was terrible news for Mrs. Gruyère, who only feared two things on earth—French gowns and the malicious pen of Mrs. Haybittel. But she preserved a brave front.
"Let us hope that she has had her face enamelled to wear with them," was her last barb.
Driving home, Clem said to her husband: