He'll be Prime
Minister." And she settled her _pince-nez_ and looked round for
contradiction. She loved argument but had made the mistake of growing too
important to be differed from. None the less on this occasion a sweet
little voice spoke up in the circle.
"I wouldn't marry him if he were fifty times Prime Minister," said Lady
Richard Benyon. "He's odious."
"God bless me!" murmured the Countess, genuinely startled. "Well, you'll
see, my dear," she went on, nodding emphatically. "He's the only man
among them." Her eye fell on Weston Marchmont. "Oh, yes, I see you're
there," she said, "and I'm very glad you should be."
"It's always a pleasure to be here," he smiled urbanely.
"Especially, apparently, when you ought to be at the House," she
retorted, glancing at the clock. "However to-day you've heard more truth
here than you're likely to there, so I forgive you."
"More truth here? But Quisante's making a speech!"
"Oh, you're very neat," she said with an open impatience. "You can score
off a woman at her tea-table; go and score off the other side, Weston,
and then you may do it as much as you like to me.
Pages:
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330