Mary Compton smiled bitterly.
"How pleased Anne will be!"
"Eh?"
"How pleased Anne will be," she repeated.
Mrs. Bosanquet paused on the threshold of the verandah. She had become suddenly very angry.
"You're a very annoying woman, Mary Compton. You said that just to upset me. You know I can't bear Anne. In a previous existence, I believe we were next-door neighbours in our suburb, and that she played hymns on a pianola. Please don't mention Anne to me."
"And you're fond of me, and you were fond of Sigrid," Mrs. Compton persisted, not without malicious amusement. Mrs. Bosanquet turned round as sharply as her bulk would allow.
"She's driving up now," she said helplessly. "My dear, for goodness' sake, get me out—I don't want to meet her—I haven't made up my mind—I'm really not in a fit state—have pity on an old woman with a weak heart and an Indian liver—let me out by the back—do, there's a dear—I'll think it over—I will really——"
"You can go out by the back," Mary Compton allowed coldly. "You'll probably give the butler a fit, but that doesn't matter. By the way, we're giving a dinner next week. We hope you and the Judge will honour us."
Mrs. Bosanquet glared from the doorway.