“O—h!” drawled out Miss Gusset with a very significant tone. “I suppose she is one of your playing-up ladies. I think you told me she was only on a visit here.”
“A pretty long visit, though, for a sister-in-law, if sister-in-law she be. As I was saying to the Marchioness the other day, when Mrs. Felix offended her so violently by trampling on the dear little Julie, if it came into a court of justice I should like to see the proof; that’s all. At any rate, it is pretty evident that Mr. Lorraine has had enough of his bargain.”
“Quite evident, I think; eh! Dr. Sly? Those German women never make good English wives,” continued Miss Gusset, with all a Toadey’s patriotism.
“Talking of wives, did not you think Lady Julia spoke very strangely of Sir Peter after dinner to-day? I hate that Lady Julia, if it be only for petting Vivian Grey so.”
“Yes, indeed, it is quite enough to make one sick; eh! Dr. Sly?”
The doctor shook his head mournfully, remembering the haunch.
“They say Ernest Clay is in sad difficulties, Miss Gusset.”
“Well, I always expected his dash would end in that. Those wild harum-scarum men are monstrous disagreeable. I like a person of some reflection; eh! Dr. Sly?”
Before the doctor could bow his usual assent there entered a pretty little page, very daintily attired in a fancy dress of green and silver. Twirling his richly chased dirk with one tiny white hand, and at the same time playing with a pet curl which was picturesquely flowing over his forehead, he advanced with ambling gait to Miss Gusset, and, in a mincing voice and courtly phrase, summoned her to the imperial presence.
The lady’s features immediately assumed the expression which befitted the approaching interview, and in a moment Miss Graves and the physician were left alone.