"It is quite a grand carriage, Miss Methold."
"Oh," said she, looking over my shoulder: "it is Mrs. Brightman."
"Very proud and high-and-mighty, is she not?" I rejoined, for the clerks had talked about her.
"She was born proud. Her mother was a nobleman's daughter, and she'll be proud to the end," said the old lady. "Henry keeps up great show and state for her. Of course, that is his affair, not mine."
"I hear he has a charming place at Clapham, Miss Methold?"
"So do I," she answered rather bitterly. "I have never seen it."
"Never seen it?" I echoed in surprise.
"Never," she answered. "I have not even been invited there by her. Never once, Charles. Mrs. Brightman despises her husband's profession in her heart; she despises me as belonging to it, I suppose, and as a poor relation. She has never condescended to get out of her carriage to enter the office here, and has never asked to see me, here or there. Henry has invited me down there once or twice when she was away from home, but I have said, No, thank you."
Mr. Lennard came in. The clerks, one excepted, had gone out to dinner. "Do you know whether it will be long before Mr. Brightman comes in, or where he has gone to?" he said to Miss Methold.
"Indeed, I do not," she answered rather shortly. "I only knew he was out by his not appearing now at luncheon."