“My dears!” said Lady Mickleham.
Upon this five young ladies who had been sitting in five straight-backed
chairs, doing five pieces of embroidery, rose, bowed, and filed out of
the room. I felt very nervous.
A pause followed. Then the Countess observed--and it seemed at first
rather irrelevant--
“I’ve been reading an unpleasant story.”
“In these days of French influence,” I began apologetically (not that
I write such stories, or any stories, but Lady Mickleham invites an
apologetic attitude), and my eye wandered to the table. I saw nothing
worse (or better) than the morning paper there.
“Contained in a friend’s letter,” she continued, focusing the “starers”
full on my face.