"Well, I don't understand you, either!" he replied. "For twenty years now I have noticed that when two or three women in our part of the country are gathered together the first thing they say to each other before the men have come into the room is that Lord Erskine's recent escapades are positively unmentionable—then they fly at each other's throats for the privilege of retailing them."
She continued to stare at him, steadily and with no especial unfriendliness in her gaze.
"And the men—over their wine?" she asked casually.
He squared his shoulders.
"That's a very different matter," he declared. "With us he is as honest and open a diversion as hunting! The first thing we say in greeting, if we meet a neighbor on the road is: 'What's the latest news from Lord Erskine?'"
Their eyes challenged each other humorously for another moment, when Hilda broke in.
"Don't you think we've given Miss Christie a fairly good idea that she mustn't expect to be invited down to Colmere Abbey—and that if she is invited, she mustn't go?" she inquired, with gentle sarcasm.
"But, before we get away from the subject—what of the Webb family?" I begged forlornly. "Is there no one living who might take an interest in the story of Lady Frances?"
I am sure my voice was as sad with disappointment as old Joe Jefferson's used to be when he'd plead: "Does no one know Rip Van Winkle?"
"Lord Erskine's mother was a Webb," Mrs. Montgomery explained.