She smiled broadly and in a voice that was almost caressing, answered: “Call it white satin, my lord.”
“It’s a funny thing now, but rum never ’as agreed with me; an’ it’s wholesome stuff, you know.”
“I have no doubt,” said Theodore, politely.
“The last time I ’ad a little drop--oh, I was queer. Now, my friend, Mrs. Cooper, can’t touch anything else.”
“You don’t know Mrs. Cooper, do you? Oh, she’s such a nice woman. And she’s got such a dear little ’ouse in Shepherd’s Bush.”
“A salubrious neighbourhood, I believe,” said Canon Spratte, with a courteous bow.
“Oh, yes, the tube ’as made a great difference to it. You ought to know Mrs. Cooper. Oh, she’s a nice woman and a thorough lady. No one can say a word against ’er, I don’t care who it is!”
“Well, they do say she takes a little drop too much now and then,” returned the good lady, qualifying her statement. “But I’ve never seen ’er with more than she could carry.”
“Oh, I don’t approve of taking more than you can ’old. My motto is strict moderation. But as Mrs. Cooper was saying to me only the other day: ‘Mrs. Railing,’ she said, ‘with all the trouble I’ve gone through, I tell you, speaking as one lady to another, I don’t know what I should do without a little drop of rum.’ And she ’as ’ad a rare lot of trouble. There’s no denying it.”
“Oh, a rare lot of trouble. Now, you know, it’s funny ’ow people differ. Mrs. Cooper said to me, ‘Mrs. Railing,’ she said, ‘I give you my word of honour, I can’t touch white satin. It ’as such an effect on me that I don’t know what I’m talking about.’ So I said to ’er: ‘Mrs. Cooper,’ I said, ‘you’re quite right not to touch it.’ Now wasn’t I right, my lord?”
“Oh, perfectly! I think you gave her the soundest possible advice.”
At this moment Ponsonby entered the room in answer to the bell. There was in his face such an impressive solemnity that you felt it would be almost sacrilege to address him flippantly. Canon Spratte rose and stepped forward, taking, according to his habit on important occasions, as it were the centre of the stage.
“Ponsonby, have we any--white satin in the house?”
“I ’ave ’eard it called satinette,” murmured Mrs. Railing, good-humouredly.
Ponsonby’s fish-like eyes travelled slowly from the Canon to the stout lady, and he positively blinked when he saw the rakish cock of her crape bonnet. Otherwise his massive face expressed no emotion.