"Their house, I mean; such perfect roosting arrangements, and all
so clean," resumed Mrs. Packletide, with an increased glow of
enthusiasm. The odious Bertie van Tahn was murmuring audible
prayers for Mrs. Packletide's ultimate estrangement from the paths
of falsehood.
"I hope you don't mind dinner being a quarter of an hour late to-
night," said Lady Susan; "Motkin has had an urgent summons to go
and see a sick relative this afternoon. He wanted to bicycle
there, but I am sending him in the motor."
"How very kind of you! Of course we don't mind dinner being put
off." The assurances came with unanimous and hearty sincerity.
At the dinner-table that night an undercurrent of furtive
curiosity directed itself towards Motkin's impassive countenance.
One or two of the guests almost expected to find a slip of paper
concealed in their napkins, bearing the name of the second
cousin's selection. They had not long to wait. As the butler
went round with the murmured question, "Sherry?" he added in an
even lower tone the cryptic words, "Better not." Mrs. Packletide
gave a start of alarm, and refused the sherry; there seemed some
sinister suggestion in the butler's warning, as though her hostess
had suddenly become addicted to the Borgia habit.
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