The credit of starting the combustion must be accorded to the Marchioness. She had observed the young lady's earnest conversation with Stanley on the lawn in the morning, and coupling this with the undemonstrative behaviour of that gentleman towards her daughter, had jumped to the conclusion that Miss Fitzgerald was trying to rob her of her rightful prize. Being possessed of this belief, and the circumstances being exaggerated from much thinking, her wrath found expression in the offender's presence, and she gratuitously insulted the Irish girl; a dangerous thing to do, as she presently discovered.
"How are you to-day?" asked the Dowager with irritating condescension.
"Excessively trivial, thank you. An English Sunday is so serious, one has to be trivial in self-defence."
"It is different in your country, then?"
"Rather."
"You seemed nervous and absorbed, at lunch."
"No. Simply absorbed with my luncheon. I find that eating is really important in England. It takes one's mind off the climate."
"I'm leaving to-morrow," continued Miss Fitzgerald, for the purpose of breaking an awkward silence, which had already lasted several minutes.
"I think it's the wisest thing you can do," replied the Dowager.
Such provocation could not pass unnoticed.