"I am awfully sorry, Mrs. Catesby. Not much of a day, is it?"
"Disgraceful. If one can't have better weather than this, one might as well go and have a week's skating at Prince's."
The idea of Mary Catesby having a week's skating at Prince's seemed to appeal to Joseph Jocelyn De Vere. At least that sportsman was pleased not a little.
"English style or Continental?" said he.
Mary Catesby did not deign to heed.
"I am awfully sorry, Mrs. Catesby," said Brasset again, with really beautiful humility.
Mrs. Catesby declined to accept this delightfully courteous apology, but gazed down her chin at the unfortunate Brasset with that ample air which invariably makes her look like Minerva as Titian conceived that deity. Silently, pitilessly, she proceeded to fix the whole responsibility for the weather upon the Master of the Crackanthorpe.
She had just performed this feat with the greatest efficiency, when by no means the least of her admirers put in an oar.
"I'm so glad you've come, Mary," said Mrs. Arbuthnot. "We were just having it out with Lord Brasset about Mrs. Fitz."
An uncomfortable silence followed.