“Worcestershire? That’s a nice county, I believe. Are not the Malvern Hills situated in it?”
“Yes. They are eight miles from Worcester.”
“I should like to see them. I must see them before I go back. And Worcester is famous for—what is it?—china?—yes, china. And for its cathedral, I believe. I shall get a day or two there if I can. I can do Malvern at the same time.”
“Captain Collinson, would you mind giving Lady Jenkins your arm?” cried Mrs. Knox at this juncture. “She is going home.”
“There is no necessity for Captain Collinson to disturb himself: I can take good care of Lady Jenkins,” hastily spoke Madame St. Vincent, in a tart tone, which the room could not mistake. Evidently she did not favour Captain Collinson.
But the captain had already pushed himself through the throng of people and taken the old lady in tow. The next minute I found myself close to Charlotte Knox, who was standing at the supper-table, with a plate of cold salmon before her.
“Are you a wild bear, Johnny Ludlow?” she asked me privately, under cover of the surrounding clatter.
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“Madame St. Vincent takes you for one.”
I laughed. “Has she told you so?”