"Well, a Lord's no worse than another man," said Lady Martin rather ambiguously. "But they say there was a terrible scene—Mr. Rose reproaching the girl and threatening to kill Lord Saxonby, and making all sorts of wild threats. My daughter's friend had a maid who had been with Lady Saxonby, and she told her all this."
"Ah, then of course it's true." Mrs. Madgwick, having a mind which delighted in gossip, did not quarrel with the source of information. "But I don't yet see why Mr. Rose married this girl. Surely there must have been plenty of ladies he could have had."
"Ah, but they all knew he'd been jilted," said Lady Martin wisely. "Besides they say he had sworn to marry the first woman who would have him, to get even with Miss Rees, you know, and I haven't a shadow of doubt this girl threw herself at his head."
"Very likely," agreed the Vicar's wife charitably. "Girls of that class are so pushing. But as a wife for Mr. Rose and the mistress of Greenriver she is eminently unsuitable."
"Dreadfully so," sighed Lady Martin. "I feel so sorry for the poor man tied to a common, empty-headed little thing like that. They tell me she is an absolute fool—and really in these days of evening classes and polytechnics there is no excuse for such lamentable ignorance as she displays. I hear that when they go out to dinner she sits as dumb as a fish—or else commits such shocking solecisms that her poor husband blushes for her."
"Really? I have had very little conversation with her," said the other woman judicially. "And beyond noting her deplorable unsoundness on religious matters I have had few opportunities of probing her mind."
"Her mind? She hasn't one," snapped Lady Martin. "She is one of those mindless, soulless women who are simply parasites, clinging to men for what they can get—a home, money, position—and give nothing in return because they have nothing to give."
"It is indeed sad for Mr. Rose," said Mrs. Madgwick compassionately. "So dreadfully boring for a clever man to be hampered with a silly wife—and one with such unpresentable relations, too. What was her cousin like? Quite—quite, I suppose."
"Oh, quite," agreed Lady Martin. "A red-faced, blowsy young woman with a large bust and a pinched-in waist. Just the sort of girl you'd expect to find in a draper's shop in Brixton. But now, I really feel quite rested. Suppose we return to the Bazaar? I have one or two little purchases to make, and possibly by now the things will be reduced in price."
The Vicar's wife rose with alacrity, and the two ladies moved away, discussing the probable financial result of the Bazaar, and Toni was left alone with her new knowledge.