"Don't take too many patients on your hands, my dear," called the mistress, with a shrill laugh.
"Yes; remember to-morrow," added the duke. Then, suddenly: "I believe
I'll lend a hand." He hurried after Penelope, rather actively for him.
Lord Bazelhurst visited his wife's room later in the night, called there by a more or less peremptory summons. Cecil had been taking time by the forelock in anticipation of Shaw's descent in the morning and was inclined to jocundity.
"Cecil, what do you think of Penelope's attitude toward Mr. Shaw?" she asked, turning away from the window which looked out over the night in the direction of Shaw's place.
"I didn't know she had an attitude," replied he, trying to focus his wavering gaze upon her.
"She meets him clandestinely and she supports him openly. Isn't that an attitude, or are you too drunk to see it?"
"My dear, remember you are speaking of my sister," he said with fine dignity but little discrimination. "Besides, I am not too drunk. I do see it. It's a demmed annoying attitude. She's a traitor, un'stand me? A traito-tor. I intend to speak to her about it."
"It is better that you should do it," said his wife. "I am afraid I could not control my temper."
"Penelope's a disgrace—an absolute disgrace. How many legs did Hodder say she'd—she'd broken?"
"Oh, you're disgusting!" cried Lady Evelyn. "Go to bed! I thought I could talk to you to-night, but I can't. You scarcely can stand up."