He kept button-holing Pangbutt:
“Too thrilled to—er—I am thrilled, sir, thrilled, as indeed is Charlotte—oh, ah, yes—Charlotte!” He searched about behind him for the little old lady, who moved up to his side. “Oh, ah, yes—there you are, Charlotte! Allow me to introduce Mr. Pangbutt, our host. May I ask, sir, if Mr. Anthony Bickersteth has yet arrived? No?... How fortunate! How very fortunate!... Charlotte, I am becoming quite excited.”
Pangbutt led them to chairs.
Two richly-dressed ladies of an age that discovers as much as is concealed by considerable dressing, hesitated at the door; and one, taking a last amused glance over her shoulder at some incident that passed upon the stairs below, tittered, and, turning, swept the room with keen regard through her raised lorgnettes.
“How amusin’! how absolutely amusin’!” she crooned. “I like literary and artistic people so much.”
“Yes,” said the other, “they are so different to one’s own class.... And actresses dress so well!”
She flung back an elaborate head of jewels, and whispered something to the lady of the lorgnettes.
The lady of the lorgnettes laughed:
“Really?” said she
“H’m, h’m!—yes. Pills.”