"I think, Mr. Mumbray, you don't know my uncle, Mr. Eustace Glazzard?"
"Ha! very glad to meet you, Mr. Glazzard. My love," he turned to the Mayoress, "let me present to you Mr. Eustace Glazzard—Mr. William's brother."
The Mayoress laid her fan on her bosom, and inclined graciously. She was a portly and high-coloured woman, with hanging nether lip. Glazzard conversed with her and her husband in a tone of amiable liveliness.
"Remarkable," he said, smiling to the Mayoress, "how patiently women in general support this ancient yoke of tyranny!"
Mrs. Mumbray looked at him with condescending eyes, in doubt as to his real meaning. Her husband, ponderously literal, answered in his head-voice:
"I fail to recognize the grievance.—How do you do, Mr. Lovett?—I am conscious of no tyranny."
"But that is just what Mr. Glazzard meant, papa, put in Serena, with scarcely disguised contempt.
"Ha! oh! To be sure—to be sure! Quite so, Mr. Glazzard.—A very amoosing lecture, all the same. Not of course to be taken seriously.—Good evening, Mr. Glazzard—good evening!"
The Mayoress again inclined. Serena gave her acquaintance an enigmatic look, murmured a leave-taking, and, with an affectionate nod to Ivy, passed on. Glazzard drew near to his niece.
"Your friend is not a disciple of Mrs. Wade?"