"And how are things in the City?" She felt that this was the sort of question she ought to ask.
"All over the shop!"
Mrs. Clive started. She felt that the answer was not so explanatory as it might have been. Still she bravely persevered.
"Dear me! I suppose that commercial matters are affected by the seasons." She thought that this sort of remark would go home to the commercial mind.
"Eh? Oh, yes; rather! I should think they were! In fine weather traffics go up all round. Noras have gone up one, Doras one seven-eighths, Trunks are flat: there's a rig-out there and rates are pooled, but this side bulls are in the right hole pretty near all along the line. Bertha's about the only one got stuck."
Mrs. Clive was speechless. She looked at Miss Truscott with imploring eyes. But that young lady was tranquilly engaged with the contents of her plate.
"Poor girl!"
It was a study to see Mr. Ely's face when the old lady made this innocent remark.
"I beg your pardon! What did you say?"
"I said, poor girl! I hope she has done nothing wrong."