"Will those trousers never come?" cried the latter with energy. "Oh, Daisy, it is dreadful to feel that I might be calling on a Duchess and that I am under a coverlet! This bed is like a grave. Do send Francis to tell that tailor to hurry up."
"Patience, dear. I am sure you will be able to go out to-morrow. I expect Mr. Ingerstall was in a fearful state of fury at your being too ill to see the mosaics to-day. He is afraid that you will grow to like London if you are snatched away from his influence."
"Horrid little creature! Oh, do tell me some news. It is so dreadful lying here. Has anything happened?"
"Marriner," said Mrs. Verulam, "you may go on reading 'Studies in Pessimism,' if you like."
"I thank you, ma'am," said the faithful Marriner, eagerly opening her pocket Schopenhauer.
"Well, Chloe," pursued Mrs. Verulam; "in the first place, Mr. Rodney has just been having a sort of fit downstairs."
"Gracious! Is he epileptic?"
"No, only conventional."
"Does conventionality make people foam at the mouth?"