“If one only knew,” said Mrs. Lester, “what exactly it is that Tony _is_ doing; we’re all in the dark. Of course, Mr. Maradick could tell us.” She paused for a moment, and then she said suddenly: “Have you thought at all of the effect it may be having on Mr. Maradick? All this business.”
“Being with Tony, you mean?” said Lady Gale.
“Yes, the whole affair. He’s middle-aged and solid, of course, but he seems to me to have—how can one put it?—well, considerable inclinations to be young again. You know one can’t be with Tony without being influenced, and he _is_ influenced, I think.”
Lady Gale put her hand on the other’s sleeve. “Millie,” she said very earnestly, “look here. Leave him alone. I mean that seriously, dear. He’s not a man to be played with, and it isn’t really worth the candle. You love Fred and Fred loves you; just stick to that and don’t worry about anything else.”
Mrs. Lester laughed. “How perfectly absurd! As if I cared for Mr. Maradick in that kind of way! Why, I’ve only known him a few days, and, anyway, it’s ridiculous!”
“I don’t know,” said Lady Gale, “this place seems to have been playing tricks with all of us. I’m almost afraid of it; I wish we were going away.”
They said no more then, but the conversation had given Lady Gale something more to think about.
Rupert, his father and Alice came in together. It was half-past eight and quite time to go down. Sir Richard was, as usual, impatient of all delay, and so they went down without waiting for Tony and Mr. Lester. The room was not very full when they came in; most people had dined, but the Maradicks were there at their usual table by the window. The two little girls were sitting straight in their chairs with their eyes fixed on their plates.
Mrs. Lester thought that Alice Du Cane looked very calm and self-possessed, and wondered whether Lady Gale hadn’t made a mistake. However, Tony would come in soon and then she would see.
“You can imagine what it’s like at home,” she said as she settled herself in her chair and looked round the room. “Thick, please” (this to the waiter). “Fred never knows when a meal ought to begin, never. He must always finish a page or a sentence or something, and the rest of the world goes hang. Alice, my dear” (she smiled at her across the table), “never marry an author.”