‘Lady Keeling will be only too gratified,’ said her husband.
‘That is very kind of her. But, indeed, I think we had better go.’
Gratification was certainly not too strong a term to employ with regard to Lady Keeling’s feelings, nor, indeed, too strong to apply to Lady Inverbroom’s when her call was brought to an end. The sublimity of Princesses was not to be had every day, and the fortnight that had elapsed since that memorable visit, with the return of the routine of undistinguished Bracebridge, had caused so prolonged a visit from a peeress to mount into Lady Keeling’s head like an hour’s steady drinking of strong wine.
‘Well, I’ve never enjoyed an hour’s chat more,’ she said, as Keeling returned after seeing their guests off, ‘and it seemed no more than five minutes. She was all affability, wasn’t she, Alice? and so full of admiration for all my—what did she call them? Some French word.’
‘Bibelots,’ suggested Alice.
‘Biblos; that was it. And she never seemed to think how time was flying, for she never once alluded to her husband’s being so late. To be sure she might have; she might perhaps have said she was afraid she was keeping me from my occupations, for I could have assured her very handsomely that I was more than pleased to sit and talk to her. And it is all quite true, Thomas, about the Princess’s visit next month. You may be sure I asked about that. She is coming down to spend three days with them, very quietly, Lady Inverbroom said; yes, she said that twice now I come to think of it, though I caught it perfectly the first time. But I shall be very much surprised if I don’t get a note asking us to dine and sleep, with Alice as well perhaps, for I said what a pleasure it would be to Alice to see her beautiful house and grounds some day. But I shall quite understand after what she said about the visit being very quiet, why there will be no party. After all, it was a very pleasant evening we spent there before when there were no guests at all. I said how much we enjoyed quiet visits with no ceremony.’
‘Did you ask for any more invitations?’ said Keeling, as his wife paused for breath.
‘My dear Thomas, you quite misunderstand me. I asked for nothing, except that I might take Mamma some day for a drive through their park. I hope I know how to behave better than that. Another thing, too: Miss Propert has been there twice, once to tea and once to lunch. I hope she will not have her head turned, for it seems that she did not take her meals in the housekeeper’s room, but upstairs. But that is none of my business: I am sure Lady Inverbroom may give her lunch on the top of the church-steeple if she wishes, and I said very distinctly that I had always found her a very well-behaved young woman, and mentioned nothing about her bouncing in in the middle of my dinner-party, nor when she spent Sunday morning in your library. Bygones are bygones. That’s what I always say, and act on, too.’
This certainly appeared to have been the case: Lady Keeling’s miscroscopic mind seemed to have diverted its minute gaze altogether from Norah. To Keeling that was a miscroscopic relief, but no more, for it seemed to him to matter very little what his wife thought about Norah.
‘Lord Inverbroom was a great friend of Miss Propert’s father at one time,’ he said. ‘He told me so only to-day.’