It was a dreary outlook. The only ray of hope that Isobel could see was in the knowledge that the infliction could not last much longer. On her arrival the Wet Blanket had announced that she must leave early, as it appeared she had promised to go and blight somebody else that afternoon. But tea had not yet come; and Isobel began to fear that, if the atmosphere progressed in gloom at its present rate, some of her more nervous patients would be driven to commit suicide in the ornamental pond.
At last, when nobody but Isobel herself had made the slightest attempt to speak for nearly five minutes, Barnby, the butler, appeared with tea, followed by two maids with trays and cake-stands. He was just in time to save his mistress from committing the social solecism of uttering a loud scream. He also furnished Lady Anderson with further material for acid comment.
Fixing her lorgnette (an instrument of torture with which she did dire execution) on her nose, she eyed the approaching procession with pained surprise. Then, turning to Isobel, she informed her:
(1) That in her opinion it was a fundamental error to have tea out of doors. Men did not like it. At her hospital tea invariably took place indoors, whatever the weather.
(The two dispirited officers she had brought with her caught one another's eye at this point and exchanged a wan smile.)
(2) That in her opinion it was a fundamental error to run a hospital with servants. Men did not like it. At her hospital all the work was done by V.A.D.'S—so much pleasanter.
(Another wan smile, hardly complimentary to the V.A.D.'s,—was exchanged.)
"But, of course, dear Miss FitzPeter," concluded the lady; "here they have you. How could they ask more than that?"
She left no room for doubt in the minds of her audience that in her private opinion one could ask a great deal more than that. At that moment, any one of the thirty or so people present would cheerfully have drowned or strangled the speaker, but nobody was bold or rash enough to engage her in wordy warfare. Isobel, heroically preserving a dogged society smile, was devoutly thankful that Denis was not there to do battle for her. He would only have made matters infinitely worse. As it was she was anxious about Sir Edward, who was fidgeting on his chair, obviously only prevented from an explosion by his sense of duty as host.