“I find the poor are most delightful persons.”
Sybil Dennant, seated on the sofa, with a feathery laugh shot a barking terrier dog at Shelton.
“Here's Dick,” she said. “Well, Dick, what's your opinion?”
Shelton looked around him, scared. The elder ladies who had spoken had fixed their eyes on him, and in their gaze he read his utter insignificance.
“Oh, that young man!” they seemed to say. “Expect a practical remark from him? Now, come!”
“Opinion,” he stammered, “of the poor? I haven't any.”
The person on her feet, whose name was Mrs. Mattock, directing her peculiar sweet-sour smile at the distinguished lady with the Times, said:
“Perhaps you 've not had experience of them in London, Lady Bonington?”
Lady Bonington, in answer, rustled.
“Oh, do tell us about the slums, Mrs. Mattock!” cried Sybil.