Wolfstein appeared. She was dressed very
smartly in blue and red, and looked either Oriental or Portuguese, as she
came in. Lady Holme was not quite certain which.
"Dear person!" she said, taking Lady Holme's hands in hers, which were
covered with unusually large rings. "Now, I've got a confession to make.
What a delicious hat!"
Lady Holme felt certain the confession was of something unpleasant, but
she only said, in the rather languid manner she generally affected
towards women:
"Well? My ear is at the grating."
"My lunch is at the Carlton."
Lady Holme was pleased. At the Carlton one can always look about.
"And--it's a woman's lunch."
Lady Holme's countenance fell quite frankly.
"I knew you'd be horrified. You think us such bores, and so we are. But I
couldn't resist being malicious to win such a triumph. You at a hen
lunch! It'll be the talk of London. Can you forgive me?"
"Of course."
"And can you stand it?"
Lady Holme looked definitely dubious.
"I'll tell you who'll be there--Lady Cardington, Lady Manby, Mrs.
Trent--do you know her? Spanish looking, and's divorced two husbands,
and's called the scarlet woman because she always dresses in red--Sally
Perceval, Miss Burns and Pimpernel Schley."
"Pimpernel Schley! Who is she?"
"The American actress who plays all the improper modern parts. Directly a
piece is produced in Paris that we run over to see--you know the sort!
the Grand Duke and foreign Royalty species--she has it adapted for her.
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