‘Well,’ she said, ‘we must trust that it will all be for the best. And there is a little insanity in my own family, too, Min, so that will make us quite quits, won’t it? No; the only thing I do regret is that dear Gundred has not got more relations. You see, Lady Agnes has never married, and Gundred is an only child herself, so that really poor Kingston will hardly have got so many nice new connections as I could have wished. There was an Isabel Mortimer, I am told, an aunt of Gundred’s, but they don’t talk about her. She married a New Zealander, or something dreadful, and went out there and died. I forget if she left any children, but of course it can’t matter whether she did or not.’
Mrs. Mimburn scented romance, and immediately became more friendly towards the match.
‘Ah, well, poor thing!’ she said. ‘We all have our temptations. I should be the last to blame anybody. Life teaches one to understand, La-la. It’s not Miss Gundred’s fault. Probably it runs in the blood. These things do. You know Marie de Lorraine’s mother used to drink methylated spirits, and they say she herself can never act unless—well, dear me, these things are very odd, aren’t they?’
Lady Adela was not listening; she rarely did listen to anyone, and never to Mrs. Mimburn. ‘Yes,’ she said, returning on her tracks. ‘I spoke to dear Kingston quite plainly. I told him that such an opportunity would never come in his way again. And after all, it is something to make a good marriage nowadays. And I said to him how delighted I should be if he would take it. He was so nice about it. I am sure he had been in love with Gundred all the while. I know he used to say how pretty and sweet she was. Anyhow, he made no sort of difficulty, and they will be married at the end of the season.’
‘What an anxiety off your mind!’ cried Mrs. Mimburn, giggling archly.
‘Yes,’ replied Lady Adela gravely. ‘One wants one’s son to settle down; and, of course, one likes cleverness well enough in other people, but in one’s own children one can really have too much of it. When it came to Kingston’s telling me he thought it wrong to shoot grouse, I knew it was time to see him safely married. Grouse are so truly excellent. It always happens, I am sure. If a young man does not marry early in life he becomes clever, and gets into every kind of uncomfortable fad. But Gundred will prevent and cure all that, I am quite sure. She is so religious and good, dear Min, as I told you; she will have no patience with humanitarianism and all those dreadful fashionable crazes. Humble and simple and devout, Min—just the wife that dear Kingston wants. I have never been really anxious about him, I need not say, but I certainly was beginning to think it time he fell into the hands of some nice sensible girl or other.’
Mental aberrations never interested Mrs. Mimburn. Her curiosity was confined to the vagaries of the flesh.
‘Oh, well,’ she said, ‘that will wear off, you know, all that nonsense. You may be thankful it was nothing worse. Most young men—ah, well! One must be grateful that Kingston never got into the clutches of Marie de Lorraine, for instance. She is such a terror. Even her garters, you know, diamonds and pearls. Oh, dear me, how delightful life would be, wouldn’t it, if one didn’t have to be good?’
‘Men,’ continued Lady Adela in a ruminant manner, ‘are always a little puzzling at the best of times. Even if they seem perfectly satisfactory in every way they are quite liable to break out sometimes into most extraordinary freaks. One can never tell. Though dear Kingston is as quiet as anyone could possibly be, I do feel that it is satisfactory to get him settled so nicely.’
‘As you say,’ admitted Mrs. Mimburn knowingly, ‘one can never tell. The strangest things one hears! Quite old men, too—so very funny! There was Lord Bennington; they say he wanted to run away with Marie de Lorraine—seventy, if he is a day, La-la, and eight grandchildren. Dear me, yes; one can never prophesy what a man will do. Only be ever so little polite to one, and the next minute—well, I suppose it is human nature, after all.’ She sighed coyly, as one whose virtue is for ever being besieged.