“Well, upon my word, they are,” admitted Courtney. “You are right there. I certainly agree with you.”
“I’m sure you do! They have no ideas. Now, artists have ideas,—they live on ideas and sentiment. Sentiment is such a beautiful thing—so charming! I believe that fierce-looking Gervase is a creature of sentiment—and how delightful that is! Of course, he’ll paint the Princess Ziska—he must paint her,—no one else could do it so well. By the way, have you been asked to her great party next week?”
“Yes.”
“And are you going?”
“Most assuredly.”
“So am I. That absurd Chetwynd Lyle woman came to me this evening and asked me if I really thought it would be proper to take her ‘girls’ there,” and Lady Fulkeward laughed shrilly. “Girls indeed! I should say those two long, ugly women could go anywhere with safety. ‘Do you consider the Princess a proper woman?’ she asked, and I said, ‘Certainly, as proper as you are.’”
Courtney laughed outright, and began to think there was some fun in Lady Fulkeward.
“By Jove! Did you tell her that?”
“I should think I did! Oh, I know a thing or two about the Chetwynd Lyles, but I keep my mouth shut till it suits me to open it. I said I was going, and then, of course, she said she would.”
“Naturally.”