"We couldn't," said Mrs Holbrook, hastily. "The Duchess is coming."
"Well, it's quite his little weakness and he can do as he likes," said Holbrook, mournfully. "I do want Henry to be Lord Regis, my love. It's just to dance on Saturday. I would arrange with Hewson of the Magnificent. And dancers are so fashionable."
"My dear Luke, the Duchess of Dullshire will be here," said his wife, firmly, "and the Trents, and Lord Frensham. We couldn't. The Duchess was at the Magnificent, I remember seeing it mentioned—she must have seen the woman without any ... that is dancing."
"She is so very graceful," said Luke. "Well, my love, of course if we cannot. But artistes do go everywhere now. She lunches with Lady Ermyntrude, and I thought that her presence, combined with a present of those Angel bulb roots; but if you object ... well, it's quite a little weakness, my love. Critennery would have liked to talk to Mavis Moover."
Mrs Holbrook wavered visibly. "If the Duchess had not been in front," she said; "still, she's very blind and won't wear glasses; she may not have noticed the gauze. I don't want our party to be spoilt, Luke, but—"
"Think it over, my love," said Holbrook, going out. "Think it over. And there's Jimmie Gore Helmsley coming. I see his name down. I don't like him, Gracie. He's a bad 'un, my love."
"He goes everywhere. He's running a horse," said Mrs Holbrook. "That long-legged bay thing we saw galloping to-day. People say it will win. He goes everywhere, Luke."
"So much the worse," said Mr Holbrook, "for everywhere."
Something had happened to the motor Esmé was going out in—a tyre had punctured as it was starting and the chauffeur gave warning of an hour's delay. Esmé yawned, waiting in the over-heated hall.
Bertie would be home in a week; she would want more wine at cost price from her host. Seeing him come out she flashed a friendly smile at him. She asked him to send her some.