She did so, with her face full of colour.
“Yes,” he said, “they keep their profiles best. You can remember them by their profiles.”
“Charles darling,” said Lady Repton getting up, her white hair shining against the flush of her forehead. “Let me look after you.” She had not used such a tone nor dreamed of such an endearment for many many years.
“I don’t mind, old girl,” he said, “I don’t mind,” and the innocence of his eyes continued. Then as though something else were battling within him he began abruptly: “Maria, have you got a full list of the people who are coming to-night? I thought not. I’m sorry to have to speak of it again, I told you when we first came to town, and I’ve told you fifty times since, that I can do nothing without such a list.”
“But I’ve got it,” she said, in great suffering, “I’ve got it, Charles.”
His eyes changed again. “You’ve got what?”
“The list of the people who are coming, Charles.”
“Oh ... I didn’t understand. The list of the people who are coming,” he repeated slowly. “Well, show it to me in a moment.” He moved towards the door.
“I’ll come with you,” she said.
For the first time since her husband had decided to enter Parliament and had entered it, twenty years before, while their child was still alive, Lady Repton had to take a decision of importance. She decided in favour of the dinner. It was too late to change it, and she must trust to chance, but evidently some terrible thing had befallen the Warden of the Court of Dowry.