"But I did not understand she was gone. I thought she was going."
"Surely you misunderstood me, Mrs. Cribbage; here comes Sir Bosanquet."
"There now," exclaimed Lady Gammon, sailing up with a flutter of silk, and a waving of lace fringe to her parasol. "There, I said so, Sir Bosanquet, polarisation of light has nothing to do with polar bears. I bought Plantagenet a box of the prismatical colours because they are warranted to contain no deleterious matter in them, should the dear child take to"—there was no Latinised word that would suit, or that she knew—"to suck 'em."
"Oh Lady Gammon," said the hostess, "I am so vexed that I cannot introduce to you my step-daughter, but she has been invited to her aunt's, Lady Hermione Woodhead, and there is a Richter concert to-night—selections from Parzifal, which she ought not to miss."
