“I haven’t caught the name yet,” said Mrs. Wardour. The sheath had gone back over her face again.
“This is Lord Charles Harmer,” said Mrs. Trentham.
“Indeed. The son of the Marquis of Nairn?” asked Mrs. Wardour.
Charlie opened his mouth very wide.
“Brother!” he exclaimed, as if he were saying “Murder!” on the Lyceum stage.
Tommy and Peter were less important; the latter, when the introductions were over, found himself sitting between Silvia and her mother. On the further side of Mrs. Wardour was May Trentham between the other two young men and already absorbed in identifying the occupants of boxes opposite and blowing kisses.
“There! There’s just room for all of us,” said Mrs. Wardour, “without squeezing each other. We were too squeezed in the other box, weren’t we Silvia? There’s six in the other box, and now we’re six here. Let me think; there’s Lord Poole and there’s Lady Poole. There’s Mrs. Heaton, and there’s Miss Heaton, and there’s Mr. Philip Beaumont. That’s five. Miss Heaton is engaged to Mr. Beaumont; isn’t that it, Silvia? I want to get it clear.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Peter.
“Indeed! Do you know Miss Heaton?” asked Mrs. Wardour.
“Yes, very well,” said he.