Lady Dunstable, a
little flushed and panting, smiled and was silent. Meadows, meanwhile,
was thinking--"How often has she told that tale? She has it by heart.
Every touch in it has been sharpened a dozen times. All the same--a
wonderful performance!"
Lord Dunstable, meanwhile, sat absolutely silent, his hat on the back
of his head, his attention fixed on his wife. As the group broke up, and
the chairs were pushed back, he said in Doris's ear--"Isn't she an
awfully clever woman, my wife?"
Before Doris could answer, she heard Lady Dunstable carelessly--but none
the less peremptorily--inviting her women guests to see their rooms.
Doris walked by her hostess's side towards the house. Every trace of
animation and charm had now vanished from that lady's manner. She was as
languid and monosyllabic as before, and Doris could only feel once again
that while her clever husband was an eagerly welcomed guest, she herself
could only expect to reckon as his appendage--a piece of family luggage.
Lady Dunstable threw open the door of a spacious bedroom.
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