“Why does she go?” was Lady Rotherfield’s not unnatural enquiry.
“Well,” Greetland explained, “it appears that Lady Hester, who has taken up good works since Ormskirk jilted her, landed the millionaire people the other day at a bazaar with a lot of rubbish at fancy prices. They are as keen on getting something more for their money as she is for their money. So she has graciously consented to dine with them on condition that she goes into dinner with me and is not expected to speak much to the nouveaux riches. Consequently, if I fail, poor Lady Hester will be reduced to silence for a whole evening, and you know, to put it mildly, she has no impediment in her speech.”
“No, indeed,” Lady Rotherfield replied, “except the impediment it made to her marriage. They say Ormskirk was absolutely stunned, and for a relief has gone out to some spot on the Sahara where he won’t hear the sound of a human voice for six months.”
“Yes,” Greetland said, “I’m afraid it would be the refinement of cruelty to leave Lady Hester in the lurch, and she does in her heart so hate the haute Juiverie. No, I see I am dining with the Ambroses on Friday. They are unexceptional themselves, but rather injudicious in their choice of friends. One never knows what one is in for there. I once had to meet at their house an awful person from the City who talked in multiples of a million, and whose principal capital seemed to be capital I’s. He had brought an absurd wife, festooned with diamonds like a segment of a transformation scene. I told Lady Ambrose that if she ever invited these farcical creatures again, which I hoped she would not, she ought to arrange to have a lime-light man to throw different colours on the pantomime person to vary the monotony of the ill-gotten gems.”
“No wonder,” Lady Rotherfield observed, “diamonds are going out of fashion with us.”
“Very well, then,” Greetland decided, “it must be Friday. If poor Lady Ambrose will be injudicious about the people she asks one to meet, she must expect an occasional disappointment.”
“Friday, then,” said the lady. “It is quite good of you. I will secure the von Rohnburgs at once. Ah, dear Duchess,” she went on, as their hostess joined them, “we were just talking of this tiresome case. How you, to say nothing of the dear Countess Alexia, must have been worried, and how glad you must be at the prospect of seeing the last of it. Will the Duke have to give evidence again?”
“Oh, yes, I’m afraid so,” the Duchess answered, with a touch of ruefulness. “The poor Duke has been bound over to appear again just as though he were a common malefactor who would be likely to abscond.”
“How absurd,” Lady Rotherfield exclaimed, with as much show of indignation as she could command.
“Yes,” her Grace pursued. “I call it abominable and most idiotic that there should be no distinction made between people in our position and the common herd whose native air is the atmosphere of a police court. Why should a man like Lancashire be forced to hang about the horrid dingy place, jostled by all sorts of unpleasant people, and then be insulted and browbeaten by unmannerly lawyers who would not dare to speak to him anywhere else? I call it too disgusting.”