“Exactly, m’lady. I am pointing out to you how improbable it is that they will do so. I am gauging their disinclination.”
The attitude of Mr. Grimes relaxed unconsciously until once more the teeth and thumbnail were at their little play again.
He continued with thoughtful eyes upon his client’s expression. “Possibly they wouldn’t li’e ’nquiry into character.”
“Oh, do take that thumb away!” cried Lady Charlotte. “And don’t lounge.”
“I’m sorry, m’lady,” said Mr. Grimes, sitting up. “I was saying, practically, do we know of any little irregularities, anything—I won’t say actually immoral, but indiscreet, in these two ladies’ lives? Anything they wouldn’t like to have publicly discussed. In the case of most people there’s a Something. Few people will readily and cheerfully face a discussion of Character. Even quite innocent people.”
“They’re certainly very lax—very. They smoke. Inordinately. I saw the cigarette stains on their fingers. And unless I am very much mistaken, one of them—well”—Lady Charlotte leant forward towards him with an air of scandalous condescension—“she wears no stays at all, Mr. Grimes—none at all! No! She’s a very queer young woman indeed in my opinion.”
“M’m!... No visitors to the house—no gentlemen, for example—who might seem a little dubious?”
Lady Charlotte did not know. “I will get my maid to make enquiries—discreetly. We certainly ought to know that.”
“The elder one writes poetry,” she threw out.
“We must see to that, too. If we can procure some of that. Nowadays there is quite a quantity—of very indiscreet poetry. Many people do not realize the use that might be made of it against them. And even if the poetry is not indiscreet, it creates a prejudice....”