Miss Pickhill grasped the pince-nez which hung from a sort of button pinned to her spare bosom, pulled out a length of gold chain, and fixed the glasses on the bridge of her nose. "Oh!" she said discouragingly. "So this is the young man I've heard so much of, is it? Well!"
Her tone led no one to suppose that his lordship met with her approval, but, happily for his self-esteem, he was so dazed and transported by the flattering behaviour of the most beautiful girl in London that he scarcely noticed Miss Pickhill. Nor did the rapid recapitulation of Cynthia's grievances in any way shake his besotted admiration of her. He asserted, on what grounds no one could imagine, that in Russia mourning was a thing of the past, such senseless conventions belonging to an outworn bourgeoisie; and uttered a slightly involved but vehement speech, the gist of which seemed to be that the only right and proper course for Cynthia to pursue, in recognition of the hideous fate which had overtaken her old friend, was to plunge instantly into as much gaiety as London could offer, preferably in his company.
"Young man," said Miss Pickhill, "you are talking nonsense, and, what is more, objectionable nonsense! It is one thing to rush into exaggerated mourning, and quite another to racket about London before that unfortunate man is even buried!"
None of his advanced ideas had ever quite succeeded in quelling in Lord Guisborough an instinctive respect for the conventions of the bourgeoisie in which he had been reared. He hesitated, and then said: "I thought you could come and dine quietly with Trixie and me, at the studio, Cynthia. Just ourselves!"
"Oh, no, Lance darling, don't let's!" begged Cynthia. "Of course I adore Trixie, but she's so dim and drab, and it's no use her telling me I should love living in Russia, being called CoMr.ade by ghastly people I don't even want to know, and being ordered about all over the place, and not having any more money than anyone else, because I should loathe it! And I particularly couldn't stand it tonight!"
"But it's not like that at all!" Guisborough assured her. "You've got a wholly false idea of the Communist State, derived from prejudice, and preconceived -"
"I don't see why my idea shouldd be any falser than yours," argued Cynthia. "You can't possibly know, because you haven't been there, and, anyway, I do think it's too boring and lethal to go on and on and on about some rotten foreign country that probably isn't half as nice as England, if you only knew!"
"Not half as nice as England!" echoed Guisborough, in a stunned voice.
"Of course it isn't! I daresay the Russians like it, but I never can see, and I never shall see why people like you and Trixie have to put on that Holy, Holy, Holy expression whenever anyone so much as mentions Russia, exactly as if you'd got religion! You'll have somebody thinking you are a Russian if you're not careful! Too degrading, Lance darling!"
His lordship's eyes kindled; he became very pale; and it was plain that his infatuation for Cynthia was not strong enough to induce him to swallow blasphemy without protest. Before he could give utterance to the words trembling on his lips, Timothy intervened to take leave of his hostess. Mrs. Haddington bestowed her most gracious smile upon him, indicating in a subtle style that she perfectly understood that he was being driven away by Lord Guisborough's presence. She held his hand between both of hers for a pregnant moment, and said: "You know you are always sure of a welcome here! Perhaps in a day or two -just a little intime party: nothing formal!"