Palliser reflected a moment, as though making mental choice.
“Lady Alice and Lady Celia are rather plain,” he said, “and both of them are invalidish. Lady Ethel is tall and has handsome eyes, but Lady Edith is really the beauty of the family. She rides and dances well and has a charming color.”
“And the other ones,” Tembaron suggested as he paused--“Lady Beatrice and Lady Gwynedd and Lady Honora and Lady Gwendolen.”
“You remember their names well,” Palliser remarked with a half-laugh.
“Oh, I shall remember them all right,” Tembarom answered. “I earned twenty-five per in New York by getting names down fine.”
“The Talchesters are really all rather taking. Talchester is Lord Pevensy's family name,” Palliser explained. “They are girls who have pretty little noses and bright complexions and eyes. Lady Gwynedd and Lady Honora both have quite fascinating dimples.”
“Dimples!” exclaimed his companion. “Good business.”
“Do you like dimples particularly?” Palliser inquired with an impartial air.
“I'd always make a bee-line for a dimple,” replied Mr. Temple Barholm. “Clear the way when I start.”
This was New York phrasing, and was plainly humorous; but there was something more than humor in his eye and smile--something hinting distantly at recollection.
“You'll find them at Pevensy Park,” said Palliser.
“What about Lady Joan Fayre?” was the next inquiry.
Palliser's side glance at him was observant indeed. He asked himself how much the man could know. Taking the past into consideration, Lady Joan might turn out to be a subject requiring delicate handling. It was not the easiest thing in the world to talk at all freely to a person with whom one desired to keep on good terms, about a young woman supposed still to cherish a tragic passion for the dead man who ought to stand at the present moment in the person's, figuratively speaking, extremely ill-fitting shoes.
“Lady Joan has been from her first season an undeniable beauty,” he replied.
“She and the old lady are going to stay at a place called Asshawe Holt. I think they're going next week,” Tembarom said.
“The old lady?” repeated Captain Palliser.
“I mean her mother. The one that's the Countess of Mallowe.”
“Have you met Lady Mallowe?” Palliser inquired with a not wholly repressed smile. A vision of Lady Mallowe over-hearing their conversation arose before him.