'All right, Algie.
I'll send him to the Zoo to-morrow.'
'My precious pet!'
A hand, reaching under the table, enveloped Claire's in a loving
clasp.
From the look on Lord Wetherby's face she supposed that he was
under the delusion that he was bestowing this attention on his
wife.
'You know, Algie, darling,' said Lady Wetherby, melting completely,
'when you get that yearning note in your voice I just flop and take
the full count.'
'My sweetheart, when I saw you doing that Dream of
What's-the-girl's-bally-name dance just now, it was all I could
do to keep from rushing out on to the floor and hugging you.'
'Algie!'
'Polly!'
'Do you mind letting go of my hand, please, Lord Wetherby?' said
Claire, on whom these saccharine exchanges were beginning to have
a cloying effect.
For a moment Lord Wetherby seemed somewhat confused, but, pulling
himself together, he covered his embarrassment with a pomposity
that blended poorly with his horsy appearance.
'Married life, Miss Fenwick,' he said, 'as you will no doubt
discover some day, must always be a series of mutual compromises,
of cheerful give and take. The lamp of love--'
His remarks were cut short by a crash at the other end of the
room. There was a sharp cry and the splintering of glass. The
place was full of a sudden, sharp confusion.
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