“Well, my dear,” the new-comer briskly asked her hostess, “what subjects are we to discuss to-day?”
Mrs. Ballinger was furtively replacing a volume of Wordsworth by a copy of Verlaine. “I hardly know,” she said somewhat nervously. “Perhaps we had better leave that to circumstances.”
“Circumstances?” said Miss Van Vluyck drily. “That means, I suppose, that Laura Glyde will take the floor as usual, and we shall be deluged with literature.”
Philanthropy and statistics were Miss Van Vluyck’s province, and she naturally resented any tendency to divert their guest’s attention from these topics.
Mrs. Plinth at this moment appeared.
“Literature?” she protested in a tone of remonstrance. “But this is perfectly unexpected. I understood we were to talk of Osric Dane’s novel.”
Mrs. Ballinger winced at the discrimination, but let it pass. “We can hardly make that our chief subject—at least not too intentionally,” she suggested. “Of course we can let our talk drift in that direction; but we ought to have some other topic as an introduction, and that is what I wanted to consult you about. The fact is, we know so little of Osric Dane’s tastes and interests that it is difficult to make any special preparation.”
“It may be difficult,” said Mrs. Plinth with decision, “but it is absolutely necessary. I know what that happy-go-lucky principle leads to. As I told one of my nieces the other day, there are certain emergencies for which a lady should always be prepared. It’s in shocking taste to wear colours when one pays a visit of condolence, or a last year’s dress when there are reports that one’s husband is on the wrong side of the market; and so it is with conversation. All I ask is that I should know beforehand what is to be talked about; then I feel sure of being able to say the proper thing.”
“I quite agree with you,” Mrs. Ballinger anxiously assented; “but—”
And at that instant, heralded by the fluttered parlour-maid, Osric Dane appeared upon the threshold.