Mrs. Doncastle seemed inclined to make no remark during the dressing, and at last Menlove could repress herself no longer.
‘I should like to name something to you, m’m.’
‘Yes.’
‘I shall be wishing to leave soon, if it is convenient.’
‘Very well, Menlove,’ answered Mrs. Doncastle, as she serenely surveyed her right eyebrow in the glass. ‘Am I to take this as a formal notice?’
‘If you please; but I could stay a week or two beyond the month if suitable. I am going to be married—that’s what it is, m’m.’
‘O! I am glad to hear it, though I am sorry to lose you.’
‘It is Lord Mountclere’s valet—Mr. Tipman—m’m.’
‘Indeed.’
Menlove went on building up Mrs. Doncastle’s hair awhile in silence.