She went everywhere and knew everyone, and did the things she ought not to have done, with discretion. Freddy thought her a playful kitten, quite blind to the fact that she had grown rapidly into a cat. But with smiling looks and sheathed claws, and Freddy's diamonds on her neck, she was a very pretty cat, and blinked sleepily at those who admired her, so long as Freddy gave her a silken cushion to rest on and plenty of cream to drink. Moreover, she only scratched those who could not scratch back.
"I really think it's awful fun," said Mrs. Penworthy to her court--"all this sort of thing, you know--holly and snow and----"
"And mistletoe," suggested one of the nice boys.
"Now if you talk like that, Algy, you shan't be spoken to for a week."
"A look is enough for me," whispered the adoring Algy.
"Naughty! What would Freddy say?"
Lady Canvey's sharp ears overheard the banter. "Were I Freddy I know what I'd say," she murmured grimly; then aloud, to spoil sport, "Is your husband here, Mrs. Penworthy?"
"Freddy? Oh, dear me, no. He's gone to Paris, or Peru, or--I forget exactly where--but it's something beginning with a 'P.' Dear Freddy," she laid an entirely useless fan on her lips, pensively, "he works so very, very hard."
"And quite right too," said Lady Canvey, bluntly, "seeing what a devoted wife he has."
"Ah, you don't know how Freddy tries me, dear Lady Canvey. I am devoted--that I am. But, you see, I took Freddy for better or worse."