I shall find out for myself. You
know her, my dear. You must take me to see her."
"Dear Granny! If people hadn't pasts, they wouldn't have futures."
Lady Casterley let her little claw-like hand descend on her
grand-daughter's thigh.
"Don't talk nonsense, and don't stretch like that!" she said; "you're
too large already...."
At dinner that night they were all in possession of the news. Sir
William had been informed by the local agent at Staverton, where Lord
Harbinger's speech had suffered from some rude interruptions. The Hon.
Geoffrey Winlow; having sent his wife on, had flown over in his biplane
from Winkleigh, and brought a copy of 'the rag' with him. The one member
of the small house-party who had not heard the report before dinner was
Lord Dennis Fitz-Harold, Lady Casterley's brother.
Little, of course, was said. But after the ladies had withdrawn,
Harbinger, with that plain-spoken spontaneity which was so unexpected,
perhaps a little intentionally so, in connection with his almost
classically formed face, uttered words to the effect that, if they did
not fundamentally kick that rumour, it was all up with Miltoun. Really
this was serious! And the beggars knew it, and they were going to work
it. And Miltoun had gone up to Town, no one knew what for. It was the
devil of a mess!
In all the conversation of this young man there was that peculiar brand
of voice, which seems ever rebutting an accusation of being serious--a
brand of voice and manner warranted against anything save ridicule;
and in the face of ridicule apt to disappear.
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