"How can you say so? Everyone is at her feet."
"Her feet, perhaps. They are lovely. But she has no gifts. That's why she
gets on. Gifted people are a drug in the market. London's sick of them.
They worry. Pimpernel's found that out and gone in for the savage state.
I mean mentally of course."
"Her mind dwells in a wigwam," said Lady Manby. "And wears glass beads
and little bits of coloured cloth."
"But her acting?" asked Lady Holme, with careless indifference.
"Oh, that's improper but not brilliant," said Mrs. Wolfstein. "The
American critics says it's beneath contempt."
"But not beneath popularity, I suppose?" said Lady Holme.
"No, she's enormously popular. Newspaper notices don't matter to
Pimpernel. Are you going to ask her to your house? You might. She's
longing to come. Everybody else has, and she knew you first."
Lady Holme began to realise why she could never like Mrs. Wolfstein. The
latter would try to manage other people's affairs.
"I had no idea she would care about it," she answered, rather coldly.
"My dear--an American! And your house! You're absurdly modest. She's
simply pining to come. May I tell her to?"
"I should prefer to invite her myself," said Lady Holme, with a distinct
touch of hauteur which made Mrs. Wolfstein smile maliciously.
When Lady Holme was alone she realised that she had, half unconsciously,
meant that Miss Schley should find that there was at any rate one house
in London whose door did not at once fly open to welcome her demure
presence.
Pages:
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91