It was May Ottley. She did not see me at once. Lady Helen utterly engrossed her. I had, therefore, time to recover from the unexpected shock of her appearance. I was ridiculously agitated. I slipped into an alcove and picked up a book of plates. At first my hands shook so that I could hardly turn the pages. Hubbard glided to my side. I felt his smile without seeing it. "I smell a brother idiot," he whispered.
"She marries a guardsman next month, I hear."
"The poor man," murmured Hubbard. "Come out and let us drink his health."
"You'd rather stay and singe your wings, poor moth."
"Mine," said he, "were amputated in St. James Church. She is a lovely creature, Pinsent."
He chuckled without replying. A footman pompously announced: "Mrs. Carr--Lord Edward Dutton."
"Bring the tea, please," said Lady Helen's voice.
"She is staring this way at you," murmured Hubbard. "She recognises your back. No, not quite, she is puzzled."
"She has never seen me in civilised apparel," I explained.
I began to listen for her voice. The air was filled with scraps of conversation.
"Three thousand, I tell you. He cannot go on like that. Shouldn't wonder if he went abroad. Like father, like son. Old Ranger had the same passion for bridge."
"You can say what you like, names tell one nothing. In my opinion the man is a Jew. What if he does call himself Fortescue? Consider his nose. I am tired of these rich colonials. I have no time for them. Heaven knows what they are after."
"She will spoil her lower register completely if she keeps on. Her voice is a mezzo and nothing else. You should have seen the way old Delman sneered when he listened to her last night."
"My test of a really fine soprano is the creepy feeling the high C gives one in the small of the back. Delicious. She never thrills me at all."
"Oh! Lord Edward, how malicious. What has the poor man done to you?"
"He plays billiards too well to have been anything but a marker in his youth. I believe he kept a saloon somewhere in the States."
"They say it will end in the divorce court. That is what comes of marrying a milkmaid. And, after all, she did not present him with a son. Ah, well, it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good. Young Carnarvon is his heir still, and his chances of succeeding grow rosier every day."