“Not in the same way. Mrs. Cosgrove was speaking to me of some girl who has just accepted an offer of marriage. “I don’t think they’ll suit each other,” she said, “but there’s no harm in trying.””
Miss Barfoot could not restrain a laugh.
“Who knows? Perhaps she is right in that view of things. After all, you know, it’s only putting into plain words what everybody thinks on all but every such occasion.”
“The first part of her remark—yes,” said Rhoda caustically. “But as for the “no harm in trying,” well, let us ask the wife’s opinion in a year’s time.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Midway in the London season on Sunday afternoon, about a score of visitors were assembled in Mrs. Cosgrove’s drawing-rooms—there were two of them, with a landing between. As usual, some one sat at the piano, but a hum of talk went on as undercurrent to the music. Downstairs, in the library, half a dozen people found the quietness they preferred, and among these was Mrs. Widdowson. She had an album of portraits on her lap; whilst turning them over, she listened to a chat going on between the sprightly Mr. Bevis and a young married woman who laughed ceaselessly at his jokes. It was only a few minutes since she had come down from the drawing-room. Presently her eyes encountered a glance from Bevis, and at once he stepped over to a seat beside her.
“Your sisters are not here to-day?” she said.
“No. They have guests of their own. And when are you coming to see them again?”
“Before long, I hope.”
Bevis looked away and seemed to reflect.