Lady Holme did not smile. She continued
chattering, but her face wore a discontented expression. Mr. Bry noticed
it. There were very few things he did not notice, although he claimed to
be the most short-sighted man in London.
"Why is your husband so dutiful to-night?" he murmured to his hostess. "I
thought he always had to go into the country to look at a gee-gee on
these occasions."
"He had to be in town for the dinner to Sir Jacob Rowley. I begged him to
come back in--How did do! How did do! Yes, very. Mr. Raleigh, do tell the
opera people not to put on Romeo too often this season. Of course Melba's
splendid in it, and all that, but still--"
Mr. Bry fixed his eyeglass again, and began to smile gently like an
evil-minded baby. Lord Holme's brown face was full in view, grinning. His
eyes were looking about with unusual vivacity.
"How early you are, Fritz! Good boy. I want you to look after--"
"I say, Vi, why didn't you tell me?"
Mr. Bry, letting his eyeglass fall, looked abstracted and lent an
attentive ear. If he were not playing prompter to social comedies he
generally stood in the wings, watching and listening to them with a cold
amusement that was seldom devoid of a spice of venom.
"Tell you what, Fritz?"
"That Miss Schley was comin' to-night. Everyone's talking about her. I
sat next Laycock at dinner and he was ravin'. Told me she was to be here
and I didn't know it.
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