“I have met your sister, I believe,” said Mrs Worthing. “We were staying at Wyverston when she came there last autumn; her first visit there, you remember,” she went on, turning to Mr Gresham. “It must have been quite an ordeal for her, without her husband too.”
“First visits to new relations must always be something of an ordeal for a bride,” said Maida, quickly and rather thoughtlessly, for she detected the covert impertinence.
“Ah, but you see, it was not exactly that,” continued Mrs Worthing. “You could scarcely call Mrs Marmaduke Headfort a bride—she has two or three children. And, but for my poor, dear friend’s terrible sorrows, the connection is not a very near one—only second cousin-ship or something of that kind.”
“My brother-in-law’s father was Mr Headfort’s nephew,” said Philippa, quietly, determined not to be suppressed.
Mrs Worthing held up her hands in smiling deprecation.
“Oh, dear, dear,” she said, “that is beyond me. It reminds one of ‘Dick’s father and John’s son.’—Aline—where is Aline?—can you unravel it? Aline is so good at riddles.”
“And I maintain,” said Maida, smiling too, and absolutely ignoring Mrs Worthing’s latter remarks, “that my cousin was certainly in the position of a bride; possibly you are not aware, Mrs Worthing, that the Marmaduke Headforts went out to India immediately they were married, and Evelyn only came home comparatively recently.”
“Your cousin?” repeated Mrs Worthing. “Dear me! I am all at sea. I did not know you were connected with the Headforts.”
“Nor are we,” said Mrs Lermont, “but Mr Raynsworth here,” with a pleasant glance in his direction, “is my husband’s cousin.”
“We are getting quite into a genealogical tree,” said Mrs Worthing, “and I am so stupid at that sort of thing. I never know who people are or to whom they are related or anything like that. And I don’t care. I like people for what they are, in themselves, you know. Mr Worthing says I am a regular Socialist—like your cousin, Mr Gresham—that dear eccentric Michael and his dog.”