Peter did not appear to like her much, but I
was too busy to notice this one way or the other. One day I said
to him I thought he was rather snubby to her and added:
"After all, she must have been a very pretty woman when she was
young and I don't think it's nice of you to show such irritation
when she joins us."
PETER: "Do you call her old?"
MARGOT: "Well, oldish I should say. She must be over thirty, isn't
she?"
PETER: "Do you call that old?"
MARGOT: "I don't know! How old are you, Peter?"
PETER: "I shan't tell you."
One day I rode back from hunting, having got wet to the skin. I
had left the Bunbury brougham in Peter's stables but I did not
like to go back in wet clothes; so, after seeing my horse
comfortably gruelled, I walked up to the charming lady's house to
borrow dry clothes. She was out, but her maid gave me a coat and
skirt, which--though much too big--served my purpose.
After having tea with Peter, who was ill in bed, I drove up to
thank the lady for her clothes. She was lying on a long, thickly
pillowed couch, smoking a cigarette in a boudoir that smelt of
violets. She greeted me coldly; and I was just going away when she
threw her cigarette into the fire and, suddenly sitting very
erect, said:
"Wait! I have something to say to you."
I saw by the expression on her face that I had no chance of
getting away, though I was tired and felt at a strange
disadvantage in my flowing skirts.
MRS. BO: "Does it not strike you that going to tea with a man who
is in bed is a thing no one can do?"
MARGOT: "Going to see a man who is ill? No, certainly not!"
MRS.
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