"Behind that large person in the heliotrope brocade--she's
the wife of the _Daily Mercury_--there's a small sofa,"
Janet said in an undertone. "I don't think she'll, occupy
it, the-brocade looks so much, better standing--no, there
she goes! Let us sit down." As they crossed the room
Janet added: "In another minute we should have been shut
up in a Russian prison. Daddy's incarcerated already.
And the man told all he knew about them in the public
prints a month ago." They sat down luxuriously together,
and made ready, in their palm-shaded corner, to wreak
the whole of their irresponsible youth upon Lady Halifax's
often venerable and always considerable guests. The warm
atmosphere of the room had the perceptible charge of
personalities. People in almost every part of it were
trying to look unconscious as they pointed out other
people.
"Tell me about everybody--everybody," said Elfrida.
"H'm! I don't see anybody, that _is_ anybody, at this
moment. Oh, there's Sir Bradford Barker. Regard him
well, for a brave soul is Sir Bradford, Frida mine."
"A soldier? At this end of the century one can't feel an
enthusiasm for killing."
"Not in the least. A member of Parliament who writes
verses and won't be intimidated by Punch into not publishing
them.
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