"Henry, what is it?" she asked, again.
"These ladies," returned Mr. Hadwell with a majestic wave of his hand, "can tell you better than I."
Estelle glanced from one to the other, wonderingly. Mrs. Tollman, a stout, pleasant-faced woman, wore a somewhat distressed expression and sat stiffly upright. Mrs. Langham-Greene, delicately lovely in dark blue velvet and ermine, leaned gracefully back in an easy chair, her fine features composed to an expression of decorous sorrow. Neither lady made any immediate effort to enlighten her hostess until Mrs. Greene swept a meaning glance at her companion from beneath her long, light lashes. Then Mrs. Tollman spoke.
"It's such a delicate matter, Mrs. Hadwell," she said in a flurried way. "I disliked coming to you about it, very much; but Mr. Hadwell insisted, saying that only an eye-witness could convince you."
"Of what?"
"This is so hard on us, both," Mrs. Langham-Greene murmured, soothingly. "And it was so careless of me to mention the poor thing; for then Mr. Hadwell simply dragged the whole story out of me. I am most distressed, I am indeed!"
"But at what, dear Mrs. Greene?" cooed her hostess.
"Oh, at the whole affair—the poor girl so well connected and all! and Ricossia so common and dreadful."
"Oh, some new scandal about young Ricossia," exclaimed Mrs. Hadwell with sudden enlightenment and a corresponding sinking of the heart.
"But he is not common; no one could call him that. Dreadful, certainly; but rather fascinating in his way, don't you think?"