Scarlet and Hyssop: A NovelBenson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
General
Scarlet and Hyssop: A Novel
Benson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
London (England) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Married people -- Fiction
Insensibly Mildred felt mollified. She knew perfectly well that, though
Lady Ardingly did not rush about to see everybody, it was only because
everybody rushed about to see her; but still there was to her a faint
aroma of compliment about the speech. She disentangled a misshapen
Yorkshire terrier from her muff.
"Who, for instance?" she said. "Now, Jack--he is a friend of yours, I
know."
"Of both of ours," said Lady Ardingly with an intonation far more
confirmatory, than correcting.
"Yes--such a dear, isn't he? Well, people have been talking about him as
possibly going to the War Office. Dear Jack! I can scarcely imagine him
there."
"Yes, that is interesting," said Lady Ardingly. "So he means to take up
politics quite seriously. I am glad you have urged him to do that, and
that you have used your influence with him in that direction!"
Mildred continued to melt.
"Yes, Jack really has great talent," she said. "And he knows about guns
and smokeless powder, and--and that sort of thing, I believe. There is a
craze just now for people managing Departments of which they know
something. Quite new, isn't it?"
"Ah, you mean Ardingly," said the other. "How cruel of you!"
The liquefaction progressed.
"Dear Lady Ardingly!" said Mildred, "how can you say such a thing! Of
course I did not mean anything of the sort. But, seriously, I think
that Jack would do well at the War Office. Do not you?"
"Oh, he is not a fool! But it is necessary that he should have a wife.
Does one count Marie Alston as a wife, do you think?"
Mildred frowned quite naturally, and Lady Ardingly, though accustomed to
find her manoeuvres successful, was almost surprised at the success of
this.
"That reminds me," she said. "I wonder whether you have heard it? There
is going about a horrid, horrid scandal about Marie. It started, as far
as I know, in that Bridge club--'Deuce of Spades,' is it not? Well,
there one afternoon, about ten days ago, Silly Billy remarked that the
Snowflake had melted, referring to the matter. Everybody knew what he
meant, and Jack, as it happened, was in the room at the time. Was it not
awful? And it has gone all over London?"
Lady Ardingly sat up in her chair with the deliberation that
characterized all her movements, and took a cigarette from a tray. She
lighted it quite slowly without replying. It was time, she felt, to
begin taking the ribs out of this poor umbrella.
"Yes, I heard something of it," she said.
"Somebody told me something. But I gathered that it did not quite
originate there. I heard, in fact, dear Mildred, that you, driving to
that concert the other day, put the notion into Silly Billy's head."
"I don't know who can have told you that," she replied.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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