The devastation of gentility was too awful.
Mr. Alcock blenched, recovered, turned slowly purple and broke into a gleaming sweat. Ann regarded him as though fascinated. Two red spots of dishonour burned upon May’s cheekbones. Aunt Harriet was making a rattling noise. . . . All the time convulsion after convulsion shook the destructive to her foundations. And Mr. Barnham shook also.
“Aida!”
The rasp in her mother’s tone brought her up short. The former was glaring unutterably.
As her daughter’s abominable emotions began to subside, Aunt Harriet turned to her guest.
“Hoverwrought,” she said in the tone of one who is publicly excusing whom she intends privately to flay alive. “Takes after ’er father. Shell we go upstairs, Lady Ann? I’m sure you’ld like to take a look at your room, an’ we can ’ave a quiet chat.”
“I’ld love to,” said Ann.
As she came to the door, she glanced round.
Mr. Alcock had slunk to the window and was savagely employing a service-dressed brother of the golden kerchief. Ada, red-nosed and bloated with exertion, stared blearedly upon the ground. May was regarding the cornice with smouldering eyes. Mr. Barnham appeared to be about to prophesy no good, but evil.
“So—so long,” said Ann pleasantly.