Katherine's voice was deep and level, and contained no impertinence, only a grave statement of fact.
Lady Garribardine chuckled among her pillows.
"Miss Bush is much nearer the truth of things than any of you so-called psychological philosophers, Bee—analysing matters with little dilettante methods all day to the laughter of the gods. Miss Bush realises her obligations as a secretary, but you very often don't perceive yours as a duke's daughter, and a rising Foreign Office official's wife."
Lady Beatrice was not the least crushed. She laughed frankly.
"Dear, sweet Aunty! There never has been a scandal about me in my life—I am a model of circumspectness, demureness and present-day virtuous wifeliness. Why, I never interfere with Gerard—we hardly meet in the whole week—and I merely like my own simple friends, my own simple clothes, and my own simple pleasures!"
"Artless creature!" And the youthful curls shook. "Well, what did you come for, in so many words? To try to get me to influence Gerard not to play for once the ineffectual part of husband in authority, and so let you disgrace the name of Thorvil and Strobridge in peace?"
Lady Beatrice seized and stroked the fat hand lying upon the pink silk coverlet.
"You darling, ducky Aunt Seraphim! Just that! I want to wear my enchanting boy's dress—I must be Ganymede, the cupbearer!"
"Well, I'll be no party to it—be off with you. I have serious affairs to settle with Miss Bush and have no further time to waste."