Miss Gostrey drank it in. “What then to-night do the others do?”
“Well, it has been arranged. Waymarsh takes Sarah to dine at Bignon’s.”
She wondered. “And what do they do after? They can’t come straight home.”
“No, they can’t come straight home—at least Sarah can’t. It’s their secret, but I think I’ve guessed it.” Then as she waited: “The circus.”
It made her stare a moment longer, then laugh almost to extravagance. “There’s no one like you!”
“Like me?”—he only wanted to understand.
“Like all of you together—like all of us: Woollett, Milrose and their products. We’re abysmal—but may we never be less so! Mr. Newsome,” she continued, “meanwhile takes Miss Pocock—?”
“Precisely—to the Français: to see what you took Waymarsh and me to, a family-bill.”
“Ah then may Mr. Chad enjoy it as I did!” But she saw so much in things. “Do they spend their evenings, your young people, like that, alone together?”
“Well, they’re young people—but they’re old friends.”