"Have you made up your house-party yet?" the Duchess proceeded blandly to Mrs. Verulam.
"Not yet. Indeed"—here Mrs. Verulam shot a rather cruel glance out of her grey eyes at Mr. Rodney—"indeed, the matter of my having the house——"
"The palace," interjected the Duchess.
"Is scarcely finally settled yet."
"I clinch it to-night at the Crystal Palace," murmured Mr. Rodney through his teeth.
"The Crystal Palace!" cried Mr. Ingerstall; "there's a glass house at which everybody should throw stones. Burmese warriors made of chocolate, or something of the kind, plaster statues of Melancholy, sardines in boxes mixed up with jet bracelets and bicycle exhibitions, a concert-room like a fourth-rate swimming-bath, a—but you shall see it," he cried to the tweed suit, who again replied hastily:
"Thank you very much."
"If your party is not made up, Mrs. Verulam," the Duchess resumed, "I am sure the Duke and I and Pearl will be most happy to join it."
"Indeed, mother," said the Lady Pearl grievously, "I do not wish——"