“An indefinite relation of hers. Have you read the Signal this week? I have not.”
“Here it is. Look at it now.”
“Listen, listen,” said Lady Blake. “ ‘At the Duchess of Oldharris’ small evening party Miss Archer looked particularly well in white and black. She delighted everyone with her playing of ‘Warum.’ She has been in mourning for some time for her father, and has been much missed by society!’ ”
Lady Blake put down the paper with slow concern.
“The Duchess of Oldharris, the Duchess,” she said. “My musical party next week! When does your husband return?”
“I do not know.”
“Soon? I cannot think that it is good for you—or for him—to stay away so long.”
“Probably not,” said Lily. “Do you always do what is good for you? I have no doubt Cairo disagrees with him intensely.”
“I would go out to him if I were you,” said Lady Blake. “Your honeymoon was in that Surrey garden. How blissful it was that day I called upon you, but how short a time it lasted! You were sewing; you never sew now. Not even a little shirt like Becky Sharp.”
“The days are no longer perfect, as they were during my honeymoon,” said Mrs. Herbert, “though it is June.”