Let's put up
with number two. We're free on the second."
Lord Holme did not look at all appeased.
"That's not the same thing," he said.
"What's the difference? She doesn't change the play, I suppose?"
"No. But naturally on the first night she wants all her friends to come
up to the scratch, muster round--don't you know?--and give her a hand."
"And she thinks your hand, being enormous, would be valuable? But we
can't throw over Brayley House."
Lord Holme's square jaw began to work, a sure sign of acute irritation.
"If there's a dull, dreary house in London, it's Brayley House," he
grumbled. "The cookin's awful--poison--and the wine's worse. Why, last
time Laycock was there they actually gave him--"
"Poor dear Mr. Laycock! Did they really? But what can we do? I'm sure I
don't want to be poisoned either. I love life."
She was looking brilliant. Lord Holme began to straddle his legs.
"And there's the box!" he said. "A box next the stage that holds six in a
row can't stand empty on a first night, eh? It'd throw a damper on the
whole house."
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand. What box?"
"Hang it all!--ours."
"I didn't know we had a box for this important social function."
Lady Holme really made a great effort to keep the ice out of her voice,
but one or two fragments floated in nevertheless.
"Well, I tell you I've taken a box and asked Laycock--"
The reiterated mention of this hallowed name was a little too much for
Lady Holme's equanimity.
Pages:
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165