“I’ll make a point of giving them an order,” the lady replied good-naturedly. “One does feel so sorry for them.”
Sir Adam was an old man, and a man of the world; but his face reddened perceptibly.
“Excuse me, Lady Harriot,” he said very clearly—and somehow every one stopped speaking to listen—“If you are alluding to Mrs Derwent and her daughters, I must not leave any misapprehension about them. There will soon be no need for any one to patronise them, however kind the motive. Their being in their present position has been the result of a complete misapprehension, for which, I must confess, I am myself to blame.”
Lady Harriot stared.
“My dear Sir Adam,” she said, “why didn’t you tell me so before?”
But Sir Adam had already turned to Lady Marth, and did not seem to hear the question. Lady Harriot nodded across the table confidentially.
“Never mind,” she said in a low voice. “Be sure you go to see their things, all the same.”
Lady Marth had looked up in astonishment at Sir Adam’s speech.
“Are you talking of some people who took a house on Pinnerton Green and have left it again already?” she said. “I had no idea they were friends of yours! I remember Hebe rather took up the daughters in connection with that guild of hers that she’s so enthusiastic about.”
Sir Adam’s face was grave and his tone very cold as he replied.