“They say,” said Lady Millebrook, nibbling the Sally Lunn, “that he lives upon gluten biscuits, lean boiled mutton, and white fish, washed down by weak Medoc, mixed with hot water.”
“It is true,” returned her friend.
“And yet he dines out. I meet him comparatively often at other people’s tables,” said Lady Millebrook. “And here—invariably.” Her eyebrows wore the crumple of interrogation.
“The servants have orders to pass him over,” explained Mrs. Tollebranch, sipping her tea. “If Jerks or Wilbraham were to offer him a made dish, one, if not both of them, would be instantly dismissed.”
“My dear Clarice! Friendship is friendship.... But Jerks and Wilbraham.... Such invaluable servants! You cannot mean what you say!”
“I do mean it,” nodded Mrs. Tollebranch. “Oh, Bettine!” she murmured, clasping Lady Millebrook’s hand, “don’t look so surprised. If you only knew how much that man has sacrificed for me!”
“If there is anything upon which I pride myself,” observed Lady Millebrook, “it is my absolute lack of curiosity. And yet people are always telling me their secrets—the most intimate, the most important! ‘Bettine,’ they say, ‘you are a Grave!’ ... So I am; it is quite true. A thing once repeated in my hearing is buried for ever! We have not known each other very long, it is true, but you must have discovered that I am absolutely reliable! Talking of sacrifices, there are so many sorts. Now perhaps in your gratitude for this service rendered you by Lord Cadminster, you overrate. Perhaps it is really not so great as you imagine! Perhaps...! But I am not curious in the least!”
“Would it surprise you to hear,” queried Mrs. Tollebranch, “that Cadminster, two years ago, was perfectly healthy! Not the cadaverous dyspeptic he is now; not the semi-invalid, but a robust, healthy, fresh-colored man of the out-of-doors, hardy English type?”
Lady Millebrook elevated her eyebrows. “Dear me,” she observed. “How very odd! And now—you know his horrid soubriquet—‘The Boiled Owl.’ He has earned it since, of course.”
“He had a splendid appetite once,” continued Mrs. Tollebranch, “an iron constitution—a perfect digestion. He gave them all three to save a woman’s honor. Oh! Bettine, can you guess who the woman was?”