“Indeed I do.”
“The society has only been started three months, and it has already done an untold amount of good.”
“I am sure it has.”
“Subjects are threshed out, and people are woke up to a sense of duties which they had either forgotten or never realized.”
“I am sure they are.”
“But”—with a yawn and a stretch of luxurious relief—“it does take a good deal out of one!”
“Has the lady who takes her cook every day to the British Museum a husband?” asked Bonnybell, feeling her way cautiously to a little gibe.
Felicity laughed. “Yes; but he can go to his club. Of course, she is a fool, poor dear; but she is always good for a drawing-room meeting or a cheque.”
Miss Ransome was respectfully silent, musing upon the different roots from which the beauteous flower of female friendship springs.
“She is a Mrs. Slammer,” continued Felicity, between two luxurious yawns. “She was an heiress, and her husband had to take her name. He was a Colonel Ransome, a well-known fortune-hunter, but quite in society. By-the-by, he may be a relation of yours. Is he?”