"Listen to this," said Lady Cynthia Drage.
She read aloud from the journal she held in her hand. "'Mr. and Mrs.
Unkerton are entertaining a party at Greenways House this week.
Among the guests are Lady Cynthia Drage, Mr. and Mrs. Richard Scott,
Major Porter, D.S.O., Mrs. Staverton, Captain Allenson, and Mr.
Satterthwaite.'"
"It's as well," remarked Lady Cynthia, casting away the paper, "to know
what we're in for. But they _have_ made a mess of things!"
Her companion, that same Mr. Satterthwaite whose name figured at the
end of the list of guests, looked at her interrogatively. It had
been said that if Mr. Satterthwaite was found at the houses of those
rich who had newly arrived, it was a sign either that the cooking
was unusually good, or that a drama of human life was to be enacted
there. Mr. Satterthwaite was abnormally interested in the comedies and
tragedies of his fellow men.
Lady Cynthia, who was a middle-aged woman, with a hard face and a
liberal allowance of makeup, tapped him smartly with the newest thing
in parasols which lay rakishly across her knee.
"Don't pretend you don't understand me. You do perfectly. What's more,
I believe you're here on purpose to see the fur fly!"
Mr. Satterthwaite protested vigorously. He didn't know what she was
talking about.
"I'm talking about Richard Scott. Do you pretend you've never heard of
him?"
"No, of course not. He's the big-game man, isn't he?"
"That's it--'Great big bears and tigers, etc.,' as the song says.
Of course, he's a great lion himself just now--the Unkertons would
naturally be mad to get hold of him--_and_ the bride! A charming
child--oh! quite a charming child--but so naïve, only twenty, you know,
and he must be at least forty-five."
"Mrs. Scott seems to me very charming," said Mr. Satterthwaite sedately.
"Yes, poor child."
"Why poor child?"
Lady Cynthia cast him a look of reproach, and went on, approaching the
point at issue in her own manner. "Porter's all right--a dull dog,
though--another of these African hunters, all sunburn and silence.
Second fiddle to Richard Scott and always has been--lifelong friends
and all that sort of thing. When I come to think of it, I believe they
were together on that trip--"
"Which trip?"
"_The_ trip. The Mrs. Staverton trip. You'll be saying next you've
never heard of Mrs. Staverton."
"I _have_ heard of Mrs. Staverton," said Mr. Satterthwaite, almost with
unwillingness.
And he and Lady Cynthia exchanged glances.
"It's so exactly like the Unkertons," wailed the latter; "they are
absolutely hopeless--socially, I mean. The idea of asking those two
together! Of course they'd heard that Mrs. Staverton was a sportswoman
and a traveler and all that, and about her book. People like the
Unkertons don't even begin to realize what pitfalls there are! I've
been running them, myself, for the last year, and what I've gone
through nobody knows. One has to be constantly at their elbow. 'Don't
do that! You can't do this!' Thank goodness, I'm through with it now.
Not that we've quarreled--oh! no, I never quarrel--but somebody else
can take on the job. As I've always said, I can put up with vulgarity,
but I can't stand meanness!"
After this somewhat cryptic utterance, Lady Cynthia was silent for a
moment, ruminating on the Unkertons' meanness as displayed to herself.
"If I'd still been running the show for them," she went on presently,
"I should have said quite firmly and plainly, 'You can't ask Mrs.
Staverton with the Richard Scotts. She and he were once--'"
She stopped eloquently.
"But were they once?" asked Mr. Satterthwaite.
"My dear man! It's well known. That trip into the interior! I'm
surprised the woman had the face to accept the invitation."
"Perhaps she didn't know the others were coming," suggested Mr.
Satterthwaite.
"Perhaps she did. That's far more likely."
"You think--"
"She's what I call a dangerous woman--the sort of woman who'd stick at
nothing. I wouldn't be in Richard Scott's shoes this week-end."
"And his wife knows nothing, you think?"
"I'm certain of it. But I suppose some kind friend will enlighten her
sooner or later. Here's Jimmy Allenson. Such a nice boy. He saved my
life in Egypt last winter--I was so bored, you know. Hullo, Jimmy, come
here at once."
Captain Allenson obeyed, dropping down on the turf beside her. He was
a handsome young fellow of thirty, with white teeth and an infectious
smile.
"I'm glad somebody wants me," he observed. "The Scotts are doing the
turtledove stunt, two required, not three, Porter's devouring the
Field, and I've been in mortal danger of being entertained by my
hostess."
He laughed. Lady Cynthia laughed with him. Mr. Satterthwaite, who was
in some ways a little old-fashioned, so much so that he seldom made fun
of his host and hostess until after he had left their house, remained
grave.
"Poor Jimmy," said Lady Cynthia.
"Mine not to reason why, mine but to swiftly fly. I had a narrow escape
of being told the family ghost story."
"An Unkerton ghost," cried Lady Cynthia. "How screaming."
"Not an Unkerton ghost," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "A Greenways ghost.
They bought it with the house."
"Of course," said Lady Cynthia. "I remember now. But it doesn't clank
chains, does it? It's only something to do with a window."