“They belong to the fastest of the fast—such a pity! The Careys are such a good old family———”
“And the boy is doing his best to add his people to the ranks of the genteel poor,” added Mr. Bang.
“Too bad!” muttered Sister Mary.
“How’s that?” I asked, feeling I might safely appear curious. “Why poor?”
“He’s supposed to be a mining broker. What of his father’s money he can’t lose trying to rig the market, he loses playing poker,” explained Mr. Bang.
Yesterday I won some of his money, but our game was only bridge, eminently more respectable than poker.
The Mounts were the first to rise. Condescendingly her ladyship approached our table. Mr. Bang rose deferentially; his manners are certainly excellent. Sister Mary was introduced.
“And how are the dear people in Ottawa, Lady Lawson, Lady Matthews, and dear Sir Charles? Do you know, really, I think Sir Charles Matthews is the most delightful man; really charming manners—so rare now-a-days. Lady Matthews—Clair I always call her—has asked me down for the Opening of Parliament, and, do you know, really, Doris has never attended a Drawing-room yet! You know we go to Europe so often, or to Bermuda, for the winter.”
“Are you not leaving on the 15th by the Carmania from New York?” asked Mumsie.
“No, do you know, really, it is the March winds I feel the most, if only I can get away for March, and you know I always do,” she put in parenthetically with a glance at Sister Mary and me; and then continued, accompanying her words, by nodding her head, and advancing her chin in her own peculiar way. “I think I shall this year take Doris to the Drawing-room, and then to St. Agathe or Algonquin Park for winter sport. And then you know Clair—that is Lady Matthews—is so pressing in her invitation—Why!”