And she had once been obliged to
make a convulsive exit from an English cathedral, in which one hundred
colonial bishops were singing a solemn hymn, entirely devastated by the
laughter waked in her by this most sacred spectacle.
Miss Burns, who hurried in breathlessly ten minutes late, was very thin,
badly dressed and insignificant-looking, wore her hair short, and could
not see you if you were more than four feet away from her. She had been
on various lonely and distant travelling excursions, about which she had
written books, had consorted merrily with naked savages, sat in the oily
huts of Esquimaux, and penetrated into the interior of China dressed as a
man. Her lack of affectation hit you in the face on a first meeting, and
her sincerity was perpetually embroiling her with the persistent liars
who, massed together, formed what is called decent society.
"I know I'm late," she said, pushing her round black hat askew on her
shaggy little head. "I know I've kept you all waiting. Pardon!"
"Indeed you haven't," replied Mrs. Wolfstein. "Pimpernel Schley isn't
here yet. She lives in the hotel, so of course she'll turn up last."
Mrs. Trent put one hand on her hip and stared insolently at the various
groups of people in the court, Lady Cardington sighed, and Lady Holme
assumed a vacant look, which suited her mental attitude at the moment.
She generally began to feel rather vacant if she were long alone with
women.
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