"And I think, Richard," casting a chilly glance at Mr. Browne, who took it and apparently was lost in wonder over it, "it would be wiser if you abstained from open condemnation of things of which you know absolutely nothing!"
"I'm in it, as usual," said Mr. Browne, with an air of tender resignation. "But why these cold glances? I've seen her, you know, and seeing is believing. Surely, I must know something— some little thing!"
"Of course," said Miss Firs-Robinson triumphantly. "To see her was enough, poor creature! So dull—so sat upon!"
"Did he do that?" asked Mr. Browne, with perhaps too lively an interest. "Dared he sit upon her? Well, she'd tempt one that way, you know."
"I agree with you, Richard," said Mrs. Greatorex, with a friendly inclination towards him.
"Dicky does not mean that," said Miss Firs-Robinson angrily. "He knows, because I've told him, that her husband made her life a burden to her."
"Oh, but, really, it was her flesh I alluded to, you know, not her husband—not her husband, you know!" said Mr. Browne, with a reproachful glance at the irate dames on his left, and a sharp attack on the sponge-cake on his right. The tea-table is fatally near him. "Her—eh—well, it must be a burden to her, you know, and no doubt, poor creature! she'll be glad to lay it down."
He has now got a considerable portion of the sponge-cake in his possession, and is waxing quite Christian in his air and smile. The smile, indeed, is seraphic.
"I believe you've been taking us in all the time," said Miss Firs-Robinson at last. She was broad-minded, and could laugh at her own small defects at times. Mrs. Greatorex could not, however, and had turned away, and was talking to Lord Ambert, who was giving her rather curt replies, as he wanted to make the running with the small heiress as strong as possible, and grudged a moment taken from his stride. The small heiress, who was flirting assiduously with the unfortunate curate, was well aware of his impatience with Mrs. Greatorex, and laughed in her dainty lace sleeves about it.
"I am afraid auntie is not orthodox," said she, looking at Tom Blount, who was still hovering round her, out of two very unorthodox blue eyes. She was alluding to her aunt's late openly-expressed opinion that married people unsuited to each other were better apart. "Are you, auntie?"