As she returned to the drawing-room, Dr. Meredith intercepted her.
"You want me to send you some work to take abroad?" he said, in a low voice. "I shall do nothing of the kind."
"Why?"
"Because you ought to have a complete holiday."
"Very well. Then I sha'n't be able to pay my way," she said, with a tired smile.
"Remember the doctor's bills if you fall ill."
"Ill! I am never ill," she said, with scorn. Then she looked round the room deliberately, and her gaze returned to her companion. "I am not likely to be fatigued with society, am I?" she added, in a voice that did not attempt to disguise the bitterness within.
"My dear lady, you are hardly installed."
"I have been here a month--the critical month. Now was the moment to stand by me, or throw me over--n'est-ce pas? This is my first party, my house-warming. I gave a fortnight's notice; I asked about sixty people, whom I knew well. Some did not answer at all. Of the rest, half declined--rather curtly, in many instances. And of those who accepted, not all are here. And, oh, how it dragged!"
Meredith looked at her rather guiltily, not knowing what to say. It was true the evening had dragged. In both their minds there rose the memory of Lady Henry's "Wednesdays," the beautiful rooms, the varied and brilliant company, the power and consideration which had attended Lady Henry's companion.