"I had forgotten his gout, poor man. At least, I hope he ordered the servants to throw the creature into the street."
"One hardly does that, does one?—with his Majesty's Secretaries of State," said Blanche, whose sleepy voice had an odd precision which made each word bite like an acid.
Aunt Charlotte hooded her eyes like a cobra to look at Blanche. But she didn't say anything. Only experts could handle Blanche, and even these must abide the whim of the goddess opportunity.
"After all, why fuss?" continued Blanche with a muted laugh which had the power of annoying all the other ladies extremely. "If one has to marry one might as well marry a Prime Minister."
This was such a sublime expression of the obvious, that even Lady Wargrave, who contested everything on principle, was dumb before it. Blanche was therefore able to retire in perfect order to the comatose, her natural state. But in the next moment she reëmerged, so that a little private thunderbolt she had been diligently nursing through the whole luncheon might shake the rather strained peace of the blue drawing-room. She was quite sure that it would be a pleasure to launch it when the moment came. A sudden pause in the great topic of Muriel's affaire told her it had now arrived.
"We saw Jack riding with that girl." So sleepy was the voice of Blanche as it made this announcement that it seemed a wonder she could keep awake.
"What girl?" Aunt Charlotte walked straight into Blanche's little trap.
