"Dressing."
An incredulous shout from the table.
"Since lunch!"
Miss Drake nodded. Lady Lucy put in an explanatory remark about a
"dressmaker from town," but was not heard. The table was engaged in
watching the new-comer.
"May we congratulate you on the result?" said Mr. Ferrier, putting up
his eye-glass.
"If you like," said Miss Drake, indifferently, still gently munching at
her cake. Then suddenly she smiled--a glittering infectious smile, to
which unconsciously all the faces near her responded. "I have been
reading the book you lent me!" she said, addressing Mr. Ferrier.
"Well?"
"I'm too stupid--I can't understand it."
Mr. Ferrier laughed.
"I'm afraid that excuse won't do, Miss Alicia. You must find another."
She was silent a moment, finished her cake, then took some grapes, and
began to play with them in the same conscious provocative way--till at
last she turned upon her immediate neighbor, a young barrister with a
broad boyish face.
"Well, I wonder whether _you'd_ mind?"
"Mind what?"
"If your father had done something shocking--forged--or murdered--or
done something of that kind--supposing, of course, he were dead.
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