“It’s almost too appalling ...” Lady Something replied, passing a small, nerveless hand across her brow.
“Won’t you tell me though,” the young man murmured gently, with his nose in his plate.
Lady Something raised a glass of frozen lemonade to her lips.
“Fleas,” she murmured, “have been found at the Ritz.”
“.............! .............? .......! ..... !!!”
“Oh and poor Lady Bertha! And poor good old Mrs Hunter!” And Lady Something looked away in the direction of Sir Somebody, as though anxious to catch his eye.
But the British Ambassador and the Duchess of Varna were weighing the chances of a Grant being allowed by Parliament for the excavation of Chedorlahomor.
“Dear little Chedor,” the Duchess kept on saying, “I’m sure one would find the most enthralling things there. Aren’t you, Sir Somebody?”
And they were still absorbed in their colloquy when the King gave the signal to rise.
Although King William had bidden several distinguished Divas from the Opera House to give an account of themselves for the entertainment of his guests, both King Jotifa and Queen Thleeanouhee with disarming candour declared that, to their ears, the music of the West was hardly to be borne.