'I protest! Good Lord! what are the women of this country coming to? I protest against Miss Levering being carried indoors to discuss anything so revolting.'
As Lord John moved towards the window the vermilion disk of the umbrella closed and dropped like a poppy before it blooms. As the owner of it entered the hall, Greatorex followed in her wake, calling out—
'Bless my soul! what can a woman like you know about such a thing?'
'Little enough,' said Miss Levering, smiling and scattering good-mornings.
'I should think so indeed!' He breathed a sigh of relief and recovered his waggishness. 'It's all this fellow Farnborough's wicked jealousy—routing us out of the summer-house where we were sitting, perfectly happy—weren't we?'
'Ideally,' said the lady.
'There. You hear!'
He interrupted Lord John's inquiry as to the seriousness of Miss Levering's unpopular and mysterious programme for the afternoon. But the lady quietly confirmed it, and looked over her hostess's shoulder at the plan-sheet that Lady John was silently holding out between two extended hands.
'Haled indoors on a day like this'—Greatorex affected a mighty scorn of the document—'to talk about—Public Sanitation, forsooth! Why, God bless my soul, do you realize that's drains!'
'I'm dreadfully afraid it is,' said Miss Levering, smiling down at the architectural drawing.