he stood up on the hearthrug, put his hands in his pockets, and appealed to the country at the top of his voice. I left the table as soon as I had my second cup of tea, I need hardly say. But his violent language could be heard all over the house! I trust, Gertrude, that Sir Robert is not like that?
LADY CHILTERN. But I am very much interested in politics, Lady Markby. I love to hear Robert talk about them.
LADY MARKBY. Well, I hope he is not as devoted to Blue Books as Sir John is. I donât think they can be quite improving reading for any one.
MRS. CHEVELEY [Languidly.] I have never read a Blue Book. I prefer books . . . in yellow covers.
LADY MARKBY. [Genially unconscious.] Yellow is a gayer colour, is it not? I used to wear yellow a good deal in my early days, and would do so now if Sir John was not so painfully personal in his observations, and a man on the question of dress is always ridiculous, is he not?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Oh, no! I think men are the only authorities on dress.
LADY MARKBY. Really? One wouldnât say so from the sort of hats they wear? would one?
[The butler enters, followed by the footman. Tea is set on a small table close to LADY CHILTERN.]
LADY CHILTERN. May I give you some tea, Mrs. Cheveley?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Thanks. [The butler hands MRS. CHEVELEY a cup of tea on a salver.]
LADY CHILTERN. Some tea, Lady Markby?
LADY MARKBY. No thanks, dear. [The servants go out.] The fact is, I have promised to go round for ten minutes to see poor Lady Brancaster, who is in very great trouble. Her daughter, quite a well-brought-up girl, too, has actually become engaged to be married to a curate in Shropshire. It is very sad, very sad indeed. I canât understand this modern mania for curates. In my time we girls saw them, of course, running about the place like rabbits. But we never took any notice of them, I need hardly say. But I am told that nowadays country society is quite honeycombed with them. I think it most irreligious. And then the eldest son has quarrelled with his father, and it is said that when they meet at the club Lord Brancaster always hides himself behind the money article in The Times. However, I believe that is quite a common occurrence nowadays and that they have to take in extra copies of The Times at all the clubs in St. Jamesâs Street; there are so many sons who wonât have anything to do with their fathers, and so many fathers who wonât speak to their sons. I think myself, it is very much to be regretted.
MRS. CHEVELEY. So do I. Fathers have so much to learn from their sons nowadays.
LADY MARKBY. Really, dear? What?
MRS. CHEVELEY. The art of living. The only really Fine Art we have produced in modern times.
LADY MARKBY. [Shaking her head.] Ah! I am afraid Lord Brancaster knew a good deal about that. More than his poor wife ever did. [Turning to LADY CHILTERN.] You know Lady Brancaster, donât you, dear?
LADY CHILTERN. Just slightly. She was staying at Langton last autumn, when we were there.
LADY MARKBY. Well, like all stout women, she looks the very picture of happiness, as no doubt you noticed. But there are many tragedies in her family, besides this affair of the curate. Her own sister, Mrs. Jekyll, had a most unhappy life; through no fault of her own, I am sorry to say. She ultimately was so broken-hearted that she went into a convent, or on to the operatic stage, I forget which. No; I think it was decorative art-needlework she took up. I know she had lost all sense of pleasure in life. [Rising.] And now, Gertrude, if you will allow me, I shall leave Mrs. Cheveley in your charge and call back for her in a quarter of an hour. Or perhaps, dear Mrs. Cheveley, you wouldnât mind waiting in the carriage while I am with Lady Brancaster. As I intend it to be a visit of condolence, I shanât stay long.
MRS. CHEVELEY [Rising.] I donât mind waiting in the carriage at all, provided there is somebody to look at one.
LADY MARKBY. Well, I hear the
LADY CHILTERN. But I am very much interested in politics, Lady Markby. I love to hear Robert talk about them.
LADY MARKBY. Well, I hope he is not as devoted to Blue Books as Sir John is. I donât think they can be quite improving reading for any one.
MRS. CHEVELEY [Languidly.] I have never read a Blue Book. I prefer books . . . in yellow covers.
LADY MARKBY. [Genially unconscious.] Yellow is a gayer colour, is it not? I used to wear yellow a good deal in my early days, and would do so now if Sir John was not so painfully personal in his observations, and a man on the question of dress is always ridiculous, is he not?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Oh, no! I think men are the only authorities on dress.
LADY MARKBY. Really? One wouldnât say so from the sort of hats they wear? would one?
[The butler enters, followed by the footman. Tea is set on a small table close to LADY CHILTERN.]
LADY CHILTERN. May I give you some tea, Mrs. Cheveley?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Thanks. [The butler hands MRS. CHEVELEY a cup of tea on a salver.]
LADY CHILTERN. Some tea, Lady Markby?
LADY MARKBY. No thanks, dear. [The servants go out.] The fact is, I have promised to go round for ten minutes to see poor Lady Brancaster, who is in very great trouble. Her daughter, quite a well-brought-up girl, too, has actually become engaged to be married to a curate in Shropshire. It is very sad, very sad indeed. I canât understand this modern mania for curates. In my time we girls saw them, of course, running about the place like rabbits. But we never took any notice of them, I need hardly say. But I am told that nowadays country society is quite honeycombed with them. I think it most irreligious. And then the eldest son has quarrelled with his father, and it is said that when they meet at the club Lord Brancaster always hides himself behind the money article in The Times. However, I believe that is quite a common occurrence nowadays and that they have to take in extra copies of The Times at all the clubs in St. Jamesâs Street; there are so many sons who wonât have anything to do with their fathers, and so many fathers who wonât speak to their sons. I think myself, it is very much to be regretted.
MRS. CHEVELEY. So do I. Fathers have so much to learn from their sons nowadays.
LADY MARKBY. Really, dear? What?
MRS. CHEVELEY. The art of living. The only really Fine Art we have produced in modern times.
LADY MARKBY. [Shaking her head.] Ah! I am afraid Lord Brancaster knew a good deal about that. More than his poor wife ever did. [Turning to LADY CHILTERN.] You know Lady Brancaster, donât you, dear?
LADY CHILTERN. Just slightly. She was staying at Langton last autumn, when we were there.
LADY MARKBY. Well, like all stout women, she looks the very picture of happiness, as no doubt you noticed. But there are many tragedies in her family, besides this affair of the curate. Her own sister, Mrs. Jekyll, had a most unhappy life; through no fault of her own, I am sorry to say. She ultimately was so broken-hearted that she went into a convent, or on to the operatic stage, I forget which. No; I think it was decorative art-needlework she took up. I know she had lost all sense of pleasure in life. [Rising.] And now, Gertrude, if you will allow me, I shall leave Mrs. Cheveley in your charge and call back for her in a quarter of an hour. Or perhaps, dear Mrs. Cheveley, you wouldnât mind waiting in the carriage while I am with Lady Brancaster. As I intend it to be a visit of condolence, I shanât stay long.
MRS. CHEVELEY [Rising.] I donât mind waiting in the carriage at all, provided there is somebody to look at one.
LADY MARKBY. Well, I hear the
Similar Books
