“Birds of a feather flock together,” suggested Mr. Cuthbert, with his malicious smile.
“Well, I don't often defend Mr. Farrant,” said Lady Caroline. “But he comes of a good old family, and, though a Radical, he is at least respectable.”
Lady Caroline knew absolutely nothing about Erica, but uttered the last sentence, with its vague, far-reaching, and most damaging hint, without even a pricking of conscience.
“You will try to rescue the M.P.?” asked Mr. Cuthbert.
“For the sake of his position, yes,” said Lady Caroline, entering the conservatory.
“Oh! Mr. Farrant,” she said, with her most gracious smile, “I came to see whether you couldn't induce your wife to sing to us. Now, is it true that she has given up her music? I assure you she and I have been battling the point ever since you came up. Can't you persuade her to give us just one song? I am really in despair for some music.”
“I am afraid my wife is quite out of voice,” said Donovan. “Are there no other musical people?”
“Not one. It is really most astonishing. I was counting on Miss Fane-Smith, but she has disappointed me, and there is not another creature who will play or sing a note. Greyshot is a terrible unmusical place.”
“You do not belong to Greyshot, so perhaps you may be able to come to the rescue,” said Donovan to Erica. “Scotch people can, at any rate, always play or sing their own national airs as no one else can.”
Lady Caroline did not really in the least care whether there were music or not, but she had expressed herself very strongly, and that tiresome Mr. Farrant had taken her at her word, and was trying to beat up recruits recruits that she did not want. He had now, whether intentionally or not, put her in such a position that, unless she were positively rude, she must ask Erica to play or sing.