'I beg your pardon.'
'You have the floor,' said Lady Wetherby. 'Shoot!'
It was not what she had intended to say. For months she had been
trying to get out of the habit of saying that sort of thing, but
she still suffered relapses. Only the other day she had told
Wrench to check some domestic problem or other with his hat, and
he had nearly given notice. But if she had been intending to put
Bill at his ease she could not have said anything better.
'You have a Miss Fenwick staying with you, haven't you?' he said.
Lady Wetherby beamed.
'Do you know Claire?'
'Yes, rather!'
'She's my best friend. We used to be in the same company when I
was in England.'
'So she has told me.'
'She was my bridesmaid when I married Lord Wetherby.'
'Yes.'
Lady Wetherby was feeling perfectly happy now, and when Lady
Wetherby felt happy she always became garrulous. She was one of
those people who are incapable of looking on anybody as a stranger
after five minutes' acquaintance. Already she had begun to regard
Bill as an old friend.
'Those were great days,' she said, cheerfully. 'None of us had a
bean, and Algie was the hardest up of the whole bunch. After we
were married we went to the Savoy for the wedding-breakfast, and
when it was over and the waiter came with the check, Algie said he
was sorry, but he had had a bad week at Lincoln and hadn't the
price on him.
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