"Never saner."
He put one hand into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out an
envelope.
"Here's what she says to you."
Lady Holme tore the note open.
"BRAYLEY HOUSE, W.
"DEAR VIOLA,--Holme tells me you made a mistake when you accepted
my invitation for the first, and that you have long been pledged
to be present on that date at some theatrical performance or other.
I am sorry I did not know sooner, but of course I release you with
pleasure from your engagement with me, and I have already filled up
your places.--Believe me, yours always sincerely,
"MARTHA BRAYLEY."
Lady Holme read this note carefully, folded it up, laid it quietly on the
writing-table and repeated:
"You're mad, Fritz."
"What d'you mean--mad?"
"You've made Martha Brayley my enemy for life."
"Rubbish!"
"I beg your pardon. And for--for--"
She stopped. It was wiser not to go on. Perhaps her face spoke for her,
even to so dull an observer as Lord Holme, for he suddenly said, with a
complete change of tone:
"I forgave you about Carey."
"Oh, I see! You want a /quid pro quo/. Thank you, Fritz."
"Don't forget to tip Lady Brayley a note of thanks," he said rather
loudly, getting up from his chair.
"Oh, thanks! You certainly ought to be an ambassador--at the court of
some savage monarch."
He said nothing, but walked out of the room whistling the refrain about
Ina.
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