The question of Mrs. Fitz was a very vexed one in the Crackanthorpe Hunt. It had already divided that proud institution into two sections: i.e. the thick and thin supporters of that lady and those who would not have her at any price. It need excite no remark in the minds of the judicious that the male followers of the Hunt, almost to a man, admired, as much as they dared in the circumstances, a very remarkable personality; while its feminine patrons, with a unanimity quite without precedent in that august body, were conspiring to humiliate, as deeply as it lay in their power, a personage who had set three counties by the ears.
The Great Lady proceeded to temper her wrath with some extremely dignified pathos.
"It is a mystery to me," said she, "how men who call themselves gentlemen can attempt to defend a creature who offered a public affront to the Duke and dear Evelyn."
"I presume you mean the affair of the bazaar?" said I.
"I do; a lamentable fracas. Dear Evelyn never left her bed for a fortnight."
"Dear me! Are we to understand that actual physical violence was offered to her Grace?"
"Don't be childish, Odo! I was present and saw everything, and I can answer for it that no such thing as violence was used."
"Then why did the great lady take to her bed?"
"Through sheer vexation. And really one doesn't wonder. It was nothing less than a public insult."
"Tell me, Mary, precisely in three words what did happen at the bazaar. All the world agrees that it was a desperate affair, yet nobody seems to know exactly what it was that occurred."