“Pellissier,” she repeated thoughtfully. “There were some Hampshire Pellissiers.”
“She is one of them,” Ennison said.
“Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up.”
“In Paris, I think,” Ennison answered. “Only married a few months ago and lived out at Hampstead.”
“Heavens!” the lady exclaimed. “I heard they came from somewhere outrageous.”
“Hampstead didn’t suit Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison remarked. “They have just taken this house from Lady Cellender.”
“And what are you doing here?” the lady asked.
“Politics!” Ennison answered grimly. “And you?”
“Same thing. Besides, my husband has shares in Sir John’s company. Do you know, I am beginning to believe that we only exist nowadays by the tolerance of these millionaire tradesmen. Our land brings us in nothing. We have to get them to let us in for the profits of their business, and in return we ask them to—dinner. By-the-bye, have you seen this new woman at the ‘Empire’? What is it they call her—‘Alcide?’”
“Yes, I have seen her,” Ennison answered.