Lady Pebworth had in her conversation just that amount of slanginess which may be permitted to an obviously well-bred woman without its giving offence.
As we were going out I found myself by the side of Sibella for a moment.
“You hardly ever come and see us now,” she murmured.
Sibella never lost her charm for me, and the sound of her voice—always a little sharp and unmusical, even when she made an attempt at modulating it, which was seldom—played upon my temperament in the most subtle manner.
I promised to visit them quite soon.
“Next Sunday?” she asked.
“I am going out of town next Sunday.”
Lady Pebworth’s carriage drew up, and, murmuring something about the Sunday after, I left her.
“Your friend, Mr. Rank,” said Lady Pebworth, “is decidedly pretty.”
“One of the prettiest girls I have ever set eyes on,” said Lord Pebworth.