Lady Holme felt certain the confession was of something unpleasant, but she only said, in the rather languid manner she generally affected towards women:
“Well? My ear is at the grating.”
“My lunch is at the Carlton.”
Lady Holme was pleased. At the Carlton one can always look about.
“And—it’s a woman’s lunch.”
Lady Holme’s countenance fell quite frankly.
“I knew you’d be horrified. You think us such bores, and so we are. But I couldn’t resist being malicious to win such a triumph. You at a hen lunch! It’ll be the talk of London. Can you forgive me?”
“Of course.”
“And can you stand it?”
Lady Holme looked definitely dubious.