‘The thing will have to be looked into.’
‘Well, whatever anyone says,’ cried a stout woman, ‘I never have read this Bashkirtseff lady’s diary, and I never will.’
‘And, pray, why not, Madam?’ snorted back an elderly gentleman. ‘Maupassant is a fraud! After what I have heard to-night, I disown him. His books ought never to have been published.’
‘Hear, hear! And with him goes Zola, and all the rest of them. What do you think, Lord Glendover?’
‘Oh, me? I never can see what people want with all these foreign fellers. John Bull’s good enough for me.’
Attention was distracted at this point by a new interest which had arisen on the outskirts of the group. Sir Peter Parchmin, the great savant, the petticoat pet—he had made a fortune in fashionable medical practice, but was forgiven it on his retirement, at fifty, in virtue of his new claims as a researcher in biology—was wriggling faint protests at the violence of a throng of ladies who were propelling him, with the help of a tall octogenarian buffoon, towards the centre of the public.
‘What’s up?’
‘Parchmin’s going to tell us the latest news about the Missing Link,’ said the big buffoon.
‘Oh, a story about the Missing Link!’ exclaimed Lady Lillico. ‘This is most exciting. Sit down everybody, and let us hear it. I adore scientific things.’
‘Oh, what is the Missing Link?’ said a young lady. ‘I’ve so often heard of it, and wondered what it is.’