Mitchy turned it over. “Answered?”
“In the quarrel that a while back you sought to pick with me. What I touched on to her mother was the peculiar range of aspects and interests she’s compelled to cultivate by the special intimacies that Mrs. Brook permits her. There they are—and that’s all I said. Judge them for yourself.”
The Duchess had risen as she spoke, which was also what Mrs. Donner and Mrs. Brookenham had done; and Mr. Mitchett was on his feet as well, to act on this last admonition. Mrs. Donner was taking leave, and there occurred among the three ladies in connexion with the circumstance a somewhat striking exchange of endearments. Mr. Mitchett, observing this, expressed himself suddenly as diverted. “By Jove, they’re kissing—she’s in Lady Fanny’s arms!” But his hilarity was still to deepen. “And Lady Fanny, by Jove, is in Mrs. Brook’s!”
“Oh it’s all beyond ME!” the Duchess cried; and the little wail of her baffled imagination had almost the austerity of a complaint.
“Not a bit—they’re all right. Mrs. Brook has acted!” Mitchy went on.
“Ah it isn’t that she doesn’t ‘act’!” his interlocutress ejaculated.
Mrs. Donner’s face presented, as she now crossed the room, something that resembled the ravage of a death-struggle between its artificial and its natural elegance. “Well,” Mitchy said with decision as he caught it—“I back Nanda.” And while a whiff of derision reached him from the Duchess, “Nothing HAS happened!” he murmured.
As to reward him for an indulgence that she must much more have divined than overheard the visitor approached him with her sweet bravery of alarm. “I go on Thursday to my sister’s, where I shall find Nanda Brookenham. Can I take her any message from you?”
Mr. Mitchett showed a rosiness that might positively have been reflected. “Why should you dream of her expecting one?”
“Oh,” said the Duchess with a cheer that but half carried off her asperity, “Mrs. Brook must have told Mrs. Donner to ask you!”