“And what is the solution, Mrs. Mowbray?” said Lord Brackenthorpe.
“The solution—ah—‘a gray eye or so’,” said Mrs. Mowbray.
The little Mercutio swagger with which she gave point to the words, was better than anything she had done on the stage.
“And now, Mr. Wynne, you must lead the way with me to our little supper-room,” said she, before the laugh, in which everyone joined, at the pretty bit of comedy, had ceased.
Harold gave her his arm.
When at the point of entering the room—it was daintily furnished with old English oak and old English silver—Mrs. Mowbray said, in the most casual way possible, “I hope you will tell me all that may be told about that charming White Lady of the Cave. How amusing it must have been to watch the chagrin of Lord Fotheringay, when Mr. Airey gave him to understand that he meant to make love to that young person with the wonderful eyes.”
“It was intensely amusing, indeed,” said Harold, who had become prepared for anything that Mrs. Mowbray might say.
“Yes, you must have been amused; for, of course, you knew that Mr. Airey was not in earnest—that he had simply been told off by Miss Craven to amuse himself with the young person, in order to induce her to take her beautiful eyes off—off—someone else, and to turn them admiringly upon Mr. Airey.”
“That was the most amusing part of the comedy, of course,” said Harold.
“What fools some girls are!” laughed Mrs. Mowbray. It was well known that she disliked the society of women.