"Oh, you didn't know." Blanche suppressed a yawn. "It's a rather long story."
Still it had to be told. And Blanche, just able to keep awake, told it circumstantially. The Tenderfoot—the heir's own name for himself, which Blanche made a point of using in conversation with Aunt Charlotte because that lady considered it vulgar—had been seen at the Savoy with a girl, he had been seen in the Park with a girl, he had been seen motoring with a girl; in fact, he had been going about with a girl for several weeks.
"And you never told me," said Lady Wargrave with the air of a tragedy queen. She looked from Blanche to Sarah, from Sarah to Marjorie. A light of sour sarcasm in the eye of the eldest flower was all the comfort she took from the survey,
"Who is the girl? Tell me."
Blanche inclined to think an actress. But she was not sure.
"Inquiries will have to be made at once." Already Aunt Charlotte was a caldron of energy. "Steps will have to be taken. It is the first I have heard of it. But I feel I ought to have been told sooner."
Blanche fearlessly asked why.
"Why!" Aunt Charlotte gave a little snort. At such a moment mere words were futile. Then she said, "I shall go at once to your father."
"But what can he do?"
"Do?" Aunt Charlotte gave a second little snort. Mere words again revealed their limitations.
"Yes?" Blanche placidly pursued the Socratic method, to the increasing fury of Aunt Charlotte.
