“It's really distressin'. she looks so sweet ridin' about. Many people with worse stories get called on,” continued Mrs. Dennant, with that large frankness of intrusion upon doubtful subjects which may be made by certain people in a certain way, “but, after all, one couldn't ask them to meet anybody.”
“No,” the Connoisseur assented. “I used to know Foliot. Thousand pities. They say she was a very pretty woman.”
“Oh, not pretty!” said Mrs. Dennant! “more interestin than pretty, I should say.”
Shelton, who knew the lady slightly, noticed that they spoke of her as in the past. He did not look towards Antonia; for, though a little troubled at her presence while such a subject was discussed, he hated his conviction that her face, was as unruffled as though the Foliots had been a separate species. There was, in fact, a curiosity about her eyes, a faint impatience on her lips; she was rolling little crumbs of bread. Suddenly yawning, she muttered some remark, and rose. Shelton stopped her at the door.
“Where are you going?”
“For a walk.”
“May n't I come?”.
She shook her head.
“I 'm going to take Toddles.”
Shelton held the door open, and went back to the table.