Lord Lethbridge followed the direction of her gaze. “Confess, I’ve afforded you some amusement, my lady.”
“Lord, you’re like a gnat, my dear man.” She became aware of little Mr Paget inquisitively at her elbow, and dug at his ribs with her fan. “What do you give for Crosby’s chances now?”
Mr Paget tittered. “Or our fair hostess’s, ma’am!”
She gave a shrug of her large white shoulders. “Oh, if you want to pry into the silly woman’s affairs—!” she said, and moved away.
Mr Paget transferred his attention to Lord Lethbridge.
“’Pon my soul, my lord, I’ll swear she went white under the rouge!” Lethbridge took snuff. “Cruel of you, my lord, ’pon my soul it was!”
“Do you think so?” said his lordship with almost dulcet sweetness.
“Oh, positively, sir, positively! Not a doubt she had hopes of Rule. But it would never do, you know. I believe his lordship to be excessively proud.”
“Excessively,” said Lethbridge, with so much dryness in his voice that Mr Paget had an uncomfortable feeling that he had said something inopportune.
He was so obsessed by this notion that he presently confided the interchange to Sir Marmaduke Hoban, who gave a snort of laughter and said: “Damned inopportune!” and walked off to replenish his glass.