Countess Eleanor interrupted him.
"You have sent enough pleasant messages for one time," she said. "You can talk to your mother afterwards: at present talk to me. Did you go to the wedding this morning?"
"Yes."
Seymour rather frequently allowed himself to be ruffled, but he always calmed down again quickly. "It is so like Mama to send a servant in the middle of dinner to say I am drunk," he said, "but she will be sorry now. Look, she is receiving my message, and is turning purple. That is satisfactory. She looks unusually plain when she is purple. Yes: I am describing the wedding for a lady's paper. I shall get four guineas for it."
"You do not look as if that would do you much good."
"If you take four guineas often enough they—they purify the blood," said he, "though certainly the dose is homeopathic. It is called the gold cure. About the wedding. I thought it was very vulgar. And it was frightfully bourgeois in spirit. It is very early Victorian to marry a man who has waited for you since about 1820."
"But they will be very happy."
"So are the bourgeoisie who change hats. At least I should have to be frightfully happy to think of putting on anybody else's hat. I recommend you not to eat that savory unless you have a bad cold that prevents your tasting anything. Shall I send another message to Mama about it?"