Theodore moved a little uneasily on his seat, and, after a moment's reflection, said gravely, "Captain Augustus Cheffington is this young lady's father; he is a friend of mine. Miss Cheffington is going to town to be presented next season by her aunt, Mrs. Dormer-Smith. She is a very thoroughbred woman. Do you know the Dormer-Smiths, Major Mitton? They are in the best set."
The Major did not know the Dormer-Smiths, and had no interest in pursuing the subject. He turned to join in the conversation going on between Mr. Bransby, the canon, and Dr. Hatch, and then Theodore slipped out of his place and went to sit nearer to Mr. Bragg, who was looking a little solitary. Mr. Bragg had a great many good qualities, but he was usually considered to be heavy in hand from a conversational point of view. Theodore, however, did not find him dull. He talked to Mr. Bragg with an agreeable sense of making an excellent figure in the eyes of that millionaire. Theodore had a strong memory, considerable powers of application, and had read a great many solid books. He favoured Mr. Bragg now with a speech on the subject of the currency, about which he had read all the most modern theories up to date. The currency, he felt, must be a peculiarly interesting subject to a man who sold millions and billions of tin-tacks in all the markets of the world. Mr. Bragg drank his wine, keeping his eyes on the table, and listened with silent attention. Theodore, warmed by a mental vision of himself speaking in a breathless House of Commons, rose to parliamentary heights of eloquence. He had already addressed Mr. Bragg as "Sir," and had sternly inquired what he supposed would be the consequence if the present movement in favour of bimetallism should be still further developed in the United States, when he was interrupted by his father's voice saying—
"Come, shall we ask Mrs. Bransby for a cup of coffee?"
Mr. Bragg lifted his eyes and rose from his chair, and Theodore and he moved towards the door side by side.
"It ought to be boiled in a basin, oughtn't it?" said Mr. Bragg thoughtfully. "Ah, no; it wasn't you. I remember now, it was Miss Patty Piper who was mentioning—I'll ask her again when we get upstairs."
Meanwhile the elder ladies had been deep in the discussion of Miss Piper's interrupted story. Constance and May had got close together near the pianoforte, and Mrs. Bransby asked Constance to play something "soft and pretty." Constance opened the instrument and ran her fingers over the keys in a desultory manner, playing scraps of waltzes or whatever came into her head, and continuing her chat with May to that running accompaniment. Mrs. Bransby, Mrs. Hadlow, and the Miss Pipers grouped themselves near the fireplace at the other end of the room, and carried on their talk also under cover of the music.
"It was odd enough that on my happening to mention the name of the Moretti to Major Mitton he should remember her at Malta so many years ago," began Miss Piper.
"Yes; and you see now that I was right, and she can't be so young as you thought her, Polly," said her sister.
"Lord, what does that matter? I only said she looked young, and so she did. And besides, I dare say the Major exaggerates her age. When a woman becomes a celebrity, or comes before the public in any way, her age is sure to be exaggerated. Many people who only know me through my works suppose me to be eighty, I dare say. They never imagine a woman so young as I was at the time composing a serious work like 'Esther.'"
"Is she handsome, this Signora Moretti?" asked Mrs. Bransby, who was always interested in, and attracted by, beauty.