Seeing the group at the farther end of the room, she bewildered Marjorie with a nod that was like a rap over the knuckles, and rustled self-consciously forward.
“Good morning,” she cried, so graciously that Marjorie could scarcely recognise her voice. “Cold, isn’t it? I’ve just come from market. It was simply perishing down there—perishing!” She left an entire syllable out of this word, pronouncing it as though speaking the name of a famous American General, then continued, “I’m a perfect martyr when it comes to marketing! I can’t overcome a sense of duty towards the fermers, who depend on us for encouragement and support; and when all’s said and done, the only char’ty worth while is the kind that helps people to help themselves. Don’t you agree with me, Lady Fanshawe?”
Lady Fanshawe supposed so, and turned to the examination of a Meissen bowl. Mrs. Blaine caught sight of an old French print on the far wall and appeared to lose interest in all else. Miss Brant discovered a blemish of some sort on the red lacquer table and bent anxiously over it, using the corner of her handkerchief in lieu of a duster.
No one considered Marjorie at all. Each was engrossed in her part, playing a little scene in the successful Comédie Malice which has been running without a break since June 8th, 1866, in the Capital.
If Mrs. Pratt was conscious of any lack of cordiality in the attitude of the others, she gave no sign. Hers was an ebullient part. All she had to do was to gush over the people who snubbed her, and to inveigle them into her house (making sure that their visits were chronicled in the Press). Incidentally, she had to provide them with as much as they wished to drink, and more than they wished to eat, and to acquire the reputation for liberal spending when and where her extravagance would be noted and commented upon.
Lady Fanshawe and Mrs. Blaine were cast in simpler parts. They had merely to preserve an air of well-bred disdain, merging now and again into restrained amazement.
Miss Brant, on the other hand, had a very difficult role to play. Marjorie scarcely realised how difficult. It devolved upon her to take advantage of Mrs. Pratt’s effort to impress the others, to sell her the most expensive and unsaleable articles in the establishment, and, at the same time, to convey subtly to Lady Fanshawe and Mrs. Blaine, her contempt for this monied upstart.
The conversation progressed in this vein:
Mrs. Pratt.—Now, do help me pick up some odds and ends for my new home.
Miss Brant.—Oh, have you moved?