“Well, we are in our Eighth Year,” said Mrs. Atkinson Brown.
Mrs. Heywood seemed startled.
“Oh, I see,” she said thoughtfully.
“I assure you it seems longer,” said the lady. “I suppose it’s because Charles makes me so very tired sometimes.”
Two other visitors now arrived. They were Mr. Hargreaves and his wife: the former a young man in immaculate evening clothes, with lofty manners; the latter a tall, thin, elegant, bored-looking woman, supercilious and snobbish.
Herbert went forward hurriedly to his new guests.
“How splendid of you to come! How are you, sir?”
“Oh, pretty troll-loll, thanks,” said Mr. Hargreaves.
Herbert shook hands with Mrs. Hargreaves.
“How do you do?”