Mrs. T. I know he'll make some muddle—I'd better do it myself! (She rushes out into the passage.) Jane, is your Master gone? Call him back—there, I'll do it. (She calls after Mr. T.'s retreating form from the doorstep.) Montague! never mind about Blankley's. I'll see to it. Do you hear?
Mr. T.'s Voice (from the corner). All right, my love, all right! I hear.
Mrs. T. I must go round before lunch. Jane, send Miss Seaton to me in the breakfast-room. (She goes back to her desk; presently Miss Marjory Seaton enters the room; she is young and extremely pretty, with an air of dejected endurance.) Oh, Miss Seaton, just copy out these menus for me, in your neatest writing, and see that the French is all right. You will have plenty of time for it, as I shall take Miss Gwendolen out myself this morning. By the way, I shall expect you to appear in the drawing-room this evening before dinner. I hope you have a suitable frock?
Miss Seaton. I have a black one with lace sleeves and heliotrope chiffon, if that will do—it was made in Paris.
Mrs. T. You are fortunate to be able to command such luxuries. All my dresses are made in the Grove.
Miss Seat. (biting her lip). Mine was made when we—before I—— [She checks herself.
Mrs. T. You need not remind me quite so often that your circumstances were formerly different, Miss Seaton, for I am perfectly aware of the fact. Otherwise, I should not feel justified in bringing you in contact, even for so short a time, with my relations and friends, who are most particular. I think that is all I wanted you for at present. Stop, you are forgetting the menus.
[Miss Seaton collects the cards and goes out with compressed lips as Jane enters.
Jane. Another telegram, if you please, M'm, and Cook would like to speak to you about the pheasants.