Lady Cardington
sat on one side of Mrs. Wolfstein and Lady Holme on the other, between
her and Mrs. Trent. Miss Schley was exactly opposite. She kept her eyes
eternally cast down like a nun at Benediction. All the quite young men
who could see her were looking at her with keen interest, and two or
three of them--probably up from Sandhurst--had already assumed
expressions calculated to alarm modesty. Others looked mournfully
fatuous, as if suddenly a prey to lasting and romantic grief. The older
men were more impartial in their observation of Mrs. Wolfstein's guests.
And all the women, without exception, fixed their eyes upon Lady Holme's
hat.
Lady Cardington, who seemed oppressed by grief, said to Mrs. Wolfstein:
"Did you see that article in the /Daily Mail/ this morning?"
"Which one?"
"On the suggestion to found a school in which the only thing to be taught
would be happiness."
"Who's going to be the teacher?"
"Some man. I forget the name."
"A man!" said Mrs. Trent, in a slow, veiled contralto voice. "Why, men
are always furious if they think we have any pleasure which they can't
deprive us of at a minute's notice. A man is the last two-legged thing to
be a happiness teacher."
"Whom would you have then?" said Lady Cardington.
"Nobody, or a child."
"Of which sex?" said Mrs. Wolfstein.
"The sex of a child," replied Mrs. Trent.
Mrs. Wolfstein laughed rather loudly.
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