"He's an awful bounder, Lady Chantrey."
Everybody was busy in conversation, and Lady Chantrey laid a frail hand on Tommy's shoulder—then,
"Tommy," she said in a low voice, "a gentleman never calls anyone a cad—for that reason. It implies a comparison, you see."
Tommy blushed furiously, and looked away.
"I—I'm awful sorry. Lady Chantrey," he mumbled.
"Tell me about your holidays," she said.
A servant stepped across the lawn to Lady Chantrey's chair followed by a stout lady, in red silk.
"Mrs. Cholmondeley," she announced.
"And how do you do, my dear Lady Chantrey? Feeling a little stronger, I hope. Ah, that's very delightful. Isn't it too hot for anything? I have just been calling at the dear Earl's—Lady Florence is looking so well—"