Lady Drake laid down her knife and trembled, while Mr. Rodney, smoothly unaware that anything was wrong, said:
"Is that the last new thing in spiritualism—to sit on the floor?"
"Lady Drake will inform you," said his Grace.
And then, satisfied with his revenge for many an hour of irritation, and many a searching query into those little matters which he preferred to keep secret, he applied himself to his breakfast, pleased that the wretched little old person beside him was now quite unable to manage hers.
THE SIX SELF-CONSCIOUS GARDENERS.
Although Lady Sage, owing to temporary indisposition and the fact that Wednesday at Ascot is comparatively an "off day," did not honour the Wednesday races with her venerable presence, it was apparent both to Mrs. Verulam and to the now appalled owner of Mitching Dean that her tongue had been very busy on the preceding afternoon, and that she had doubtless proclaimed the intentions which she had not yet been able to carry out. For Mrs. Verulam was cold-shouldered by various good people, both in the Enclosure, in the paddock, and on the lawn. The Lady Jane Clinch, famous for her luncheons, snorted at her twice in a manner to attract attention and evoke imitation. Baroness Clayfield-Moor, kindliest of women, shuffled her feet as Mrs. Verulam drew near, and assumed an expression of rapt abstraction, such as may be seen upon the faces of seraphs in an oleograph. And Mrs. Brainton Gumm, the Banana Queen, upon whom Mrs. Verulam had never left cards—disliking bananas, which she considered tasted medicinal—Mrs. Gumm bridled violently at Mrs. Verulam, and tossed her head in most West Indian fashion, murmuring something mysterious about "the manner in which that sort of thing would have been treated in the old days at Spanish Town." Mr. Rodney heard this last remark, and was all of a tremble. He resolved, directly he found himself again at Mitching Dean, to consult his library, and look up ancient Spanish Town customs. Visions of Mrs. Verulam thrown to the tigers and alligators, which he vaguely considered to swarm in all distant settlements, haunted him perpetually, and his distress was greatly complicated by the extraordinary letter of Lord Bernard. During the afternoon Mrs. Verulam and he found themselves for a moment in a quiet corner at the back of the Royal Enclosure, and Mr. Rodney seized the opportunity to utter a few fragments of his confusion and suspicion.
"Let me speak, Mrs. Verulam," he began with unwonted agitation, and a manner as if she had been holding a pillow over his mouth for the last few days—"let me—oh, do let me speak!"