'Every darned thing different
since I was here last. New waiter, head-waiter I never saw before
in my life, different-coloured carpet--'
'Cheer up, Nutty, old thing!' said Miss Leonard. 'You'll feel
better when you've had something to eat. I hope you had the sense
to tip the head-waiter, or there won't be any table. Funny how
these places go up and down in New York. A year ago the whole
management would turn out and kiss you if you looked like spending
a couple of dollars here. Now it costs the earth to get in at
all.'
'Why's that?' asked Nutty.
'Lady Pauline Wetherby, of course. Didn't you know this was where
she danced?'
'Never heard of her,' said Nutty, in a sort of ecstasy of wistful
gloom. 'That will show you how long I've been away. Who is she?'
Miss Leonard invoked the name of Mike.
'Don't you ever get the papers in your village, Nutty?'
'I never read the papers. I don't suppose I've read a paper for
years. I can't stand 'em. Who is Lady Pauline Wetherby?'
'She does Greek dances--at least, I suppose they're Greek. They
all are nowadays, unless they're Russian. She's an English
peeress.'
Miss Leonard's friend said she was crazy about these picturesque
old English families; and they went in to supper.
* * * * *
Looking back on the evening later and reviewing its leading
features, Lord Dawlish came to the conclusion that he never
completely recovered from the first shock of the Good Sport.
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