"Of course," chime in several voices in the background, for all the attention of the conclave is aroused now. "But then there are friendships, and friendships."
"Exactly," says Mrs. Bradshaw B. Woollffe drily. "It is the 'and' ones I mean. How is it you know so well who may not look at the halter, and who may steal the horse?"
"It is—it is somewhat difficult to explain," hesitates the pretty fair woman, who has a charming "friendship" of her own on hand just now, and is anxious it should be considered as blameless as, of course, it is.
Mrs. Bradshaw Woollffe laughs loudly.
"I surmise it is," she answers, "something like the people one can't know and the people one can. I suppose as long as one's got a pretty big pile, one can do anything."
"But to return to Mr. Athelstone," says Belgravia, a little uncomfortably. "Don't you really know when he'll come back?"
"Perhaps I do," answers Mrs. Woollffe, with an odd little smile. "He's just promised to come and stay with me the end of the month. I have a niece—a very pretty girl she is, too—coming over from N' York, and as they knew each other in Amurca, I thought it would be company like for them to be together."
Horror and consternation fill the heart of the Belgravian matron. The prospects of her two daughters who are "out," and the blushing ingénue in prospective, flee further and further back into the regions of disappointment.
What an odious woman! What a horrible woman! What on earth does she mean? Oh, if only she were poor, and if only the Earl of Longleat hadn't taken her up, how she would crush her now beneath aristocratic scorn. But—well, it never does quite to fall out with so much money, and lose all the dinners, balls, and receptions which the wealthy widow gives right royally in the season. So the ire is smothered and the frowns dispelled, and only the sweetest of phrases issue from lips that are absolutely trembling with hatred and disgust. The rooms grow emptier and emptier. The last visitor leaves, and Mrs. Bradshaw B. Woollffe leans back in her most comfortable chair, and laughs softly to herself in the glow of the firelight.
"We don't raise that sort down our way," she says, "and I'm glad of it. Well, I think I riled 'em with that bit about Anastasia, and it's no cram either. She is uncommon pretty, and ought to take. I shouldn't mind getting a bid for her, only she's that sweet on Keith I'm afraid it won't be easy. But he don't care a red herring for her—that I know. I wonder what's become of the girl he told me of in N' York that fall. He ain't married her, and when I asked him why, he cut up mighty rough, and as good as told me to mind my own business. But I like that Keith. I wish he seemed a bit happier, that I do. He's not near so spry and lively as he used to be. How all these women are after him! Guess I got a rise out of them that time. My, if they knew he was coming here to-night! 'Taint none of their business though, and I don't mean it to be. I think I'll keep the dragons off him better'n most. I and—Anastasia!"