Mrs. Wolfstein looked at Mr. Laycock and murmured to him:
“Pimpernel does any killing that’s going about—for herself. What d’you say, Franky?”
They went out of the box together, followed by “Henry,” who was still buzzing calculations, like a Jewish bee.
Lord Holme resolutely tore himself from the ear-trumpet, and was preparing to follow, with the bellowed excuse that he was “sufferin’ from toothache” and had been ordered to “do as much smokin’ as possible,” when the curtain rose on the second act.
Miss Schley was engaged to a supper-party that evening and did not wish to be late. Lord Holme sat down again looking scarcely pleasant.
“Do as much—the what?” cried Mrs. Ulford, holding the trumpet at right angles to her pink face.
Leo Ulford leant backwards and hissed “Hush!” at her. She looked at him and then at Lady Holme, and a sudden expression of old age came into her bird-like face and seemed to overspread her whole body. She dropped the trumpet and touched the diamonds that glittered in the front of her low gown with trembling hands.
Mr. Laycock slipped into the box when the curtain had been up two or three minutes, but Sir Donald did not return.
“I b’lieve he’s bolted,” Leo whispered to Lady Holme. “Just like him.”
“Why?”