But Stella scarcely heard. She remembered the tramp who had not a penny and the misery that had met her eyes during her rides abroad, and a momentary shadow fell on her.
“I think there 's a great deal to be said for the socialists,” remarked Lady Julia.
Sir Oliver laid down his fork and stared less at his wife than at the blasphemy.
“There 's nothing to be said for 'em; nothing at all.”
“You 'll admit the uneven distribution of wealth,” said Lady Blount, drawing herself up. She was rather proud of the phrase.
“Lazy dogs—all to get and nothing to do. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Julia.”
“Oh, darlings, don't get cross with me!” cried Stella, in distress. The observance of the Unwritten Law had imperceptibly grown less strict as the influence of the sea-chamber had waned, and the poor quarrelsome pair were not at their old pains to hide their differences. “I never meant to talk socialism.”
“My precious dove!” cried Sir Oliver, “who in the world said you did? It was your aunt.”
“I believe it's John who is at the bottom of it, because he 's wearing a red tie,” Herold interposed, with a laugh. “Oh, John, where did you find it?”
“I think it suits him beautifully,” declared Stella, quick to follow the red herring of a cravat. “It 's when he wears mauve or light blue or green striped with yellow that he goes wrong. Belovedest,—” she turned to him tenderly; she was placed between him and Sir Oliver,—“now that I am like everybody else,”—her favorite euphemism,—“do let me choose your ties for you.”