“Yes,” Lady Rotherfield assented, “as though it were not bad enough to have all these outsiders pushing themselves into our houses, without their bringing their misleading half-knowledge of our affairs with them. So the Countess will be quite rehabilitated? I am so glad. She is really so clever and charming, and one shudders to think what would have been the result if she had been unable to establish her innocence; anyhow, declassées have such a terrible time, and give it to their friends. I suppose it would not do to invite them to dine till the case is really over?”
Greetland pouted dubiously. “There is, of course, a certain risk, but it is scarcely worth considering, as the case stands. On the other hand, it would be a good move to show confidence, where one is practically safe, and an invitation sent off before the verdict is given would re-establish the entente cordiale. I know for a fact that Herriard is absolutely certain of getting a conviction, and of course that means the triumph of Alexia.”
“Just so,” Lady Rotherfield agreed. “One may as well send them to-night an invitation to dine next week. So many people will like to meet her now.”
“Yes, indeed,” the social Autolycus agreed. “The Countess will be absolutely the rage, and it will be quite the smart thing to give dinners to meet her. So I should not delay, if you want to get her next week. There is sure to be a rush for her.”
“Ah, yes, to be sure. People are so eager to make the best of these little disappointments. I’ll send out cards directly I get home. You’ll come, dear Mr. Greetland? You must come. What day will suit you?”
“I haven’t a night for the next three weeks,” answered the much desired gossip.
“Oh, but you must really come,” Lady Rotherfield urged. “What people next week can you throw over best?”
The preux chevalier consulted a gold-bound note-book. “Let me see,” he murmured, as, with an air of due importance, he ran through his thronging engagements. “You know I’ll do what I can for you, dear lady. Tuesday, the Andovers; Lady Andover would never forgive me if I threw her over; Wednesday, the Zoylands; half the Cabinet will be there, I must go and make Lord Sarum tell me what we are really going to do about Russia; Thursday, the Tudor-Fitzralphs; I am to dine and go to the play with some poor people who have just bought the Duke of St. Ives’s house in Piccadilly; they are hopeless outsiders, by way of being millionaires, of course, and all that, which is so tiresome, but I have promised to do what I can for them, and it would be an awful blow if I didn’t turn up.”
“Surely you might throw the wretched creatures over,” his would-be hostess suggested. “Millionaires have no feelings, to speak of, or they would never have become millionaires. Surely you are not going to let such absurd people stand in your way?”
“Oh, no,” Greetland responded; “they are too utterly impossible and beneath consideration. One would think as little of throwing them over as of pitching a pebble into the Serpentine. But the difficulty is that I have got Lady Hester Nayland to consent to go, and if I am not there she will have no one to speak to.”