It was her
invariable plan to speak in a sleepy, comfortable voice whenever
she was unusually keen about anything; it put people off their
guard, and they frequently fell in with her wishes before they had
realized that she was really asking for anything. Lady Bastable,
however, was not so easily taken unawares; possibly she knew that
voice and what it betokened--at any rate, she knew Clovis.
She frowned at a piece of toast and ate it very slowly, as though
she wished to convey the impression that the process hurt her more
than it hurt the toast; but no extension of hospitality on
Clovis's behalf rose to her lips.
"It would be a great convenience to me," pursued Mrs. Sangrail,
abandoning the careless tone. "I particularly don't want to take
him to the MacGregors', and it will only be for six days."
It will seem longer," said Lady Bastable dismally.
"The last time he stayed here for a week--"
"I know," interrupted the other hastily, "but that was nearly two
years ago. He was younger then."
"But he hasn't improved," said her hostess; "it's no use growing
older if you only learn new ways of misbehaving yourself."
Mrs. Sangrail was unable to argue the point; since Clovis had
reached the age of seventeen she had never ceased to bewail his
irrepressible waywardness to all her circle of acquaintances, and
a polite scepticism would have greeted the slightest hint at a
prospective reformation.
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