As though she had had as much of the subject as she could very well stand, Miss Levering leaned sideways, put an arm behind her, and took possession of her boa.
'They're just ending the first act of Siegfried. How glad I am to be in your garden instead of Covent Garden!'
Ordinarily there would have been a movement to take the appreciative guest for a stroll.
Perhaps it was only chance, or the enervating heat, that kept the company in their chairs listening to Farnborough—
'The cattiest one of the two, there she stood like this, her clothes half torn off, her hair down her back, her face the colour of a lobster and the crowd jeering at her——'
'I don't see how you could stand and look on at such a hideous scene,' said Miss Levering.
'Oh—I—I didn't! I'm only telling you how Wilkinson described it. He said——'
'How did Major Wilkinson happen to be there?' asked Lady John.
'He'd motored over from Headquarters to move a vote of thanks to the chairman. He said he'd seen some revolting things in his time, but the scrimmage of the stewards and the police with those women——!' Farnborough ended with an expressive gesture.
'If it was as horrible as that for Major Wilkinson to look on at—what must it have been for those girls?' It was Miss Levering speaking. She seemed to have abandoned the hope of being taken for a stroll, and was leaning forward, chin in hand, looking at the fringe of the teacloth.