THE BETTER SORT
can you say that when you've only to see how everyone likes and admires you? Just look at the Ambassador," she had earnestly insisted. And this was what had precisely, as I have mentioned, carried the stream of their talk a good deal away from its source. It had therefore not much further to go before setting in motion the name of Stuart Straith, as to whom Lady Claude confessed to an interest—good-looking, distinguished, "sympathetic," as he was—that she could really almost hate him for having done nothing whatever to encourage. He had not spoken to her once.
"But, my dear, if he hasn't spoken to me!"
Lady Claude appeared to regret this not too much for a hint that, after all, there might be a difference. "Oh but could he?"
"Without my having spoken to him first?" Mrs. Harvey turned it over. "Perhaps not; but I couldn't have done that." Then, to explain, and not only because Lady Claude was naturally vague, but because what was still visibly most vivid to her was her independent right to have been "made up" to: "And yet not because we're not acquainted."
"You know him, then?"
"But too well."
"You mean you don't like him?"
"On the contrary, I like him—to distraction."
"Then what's the matter?" Lady Claude asked with some impatience.
Her friend hesitated but a moment. "Well, he wouldn't have me."
"'Have' you?"
"Ten years ago, after Mr. Harvey's death, when, if he had lifted a finger, I would have married him."
"But he didn't lift it?"
"He was too grand. I was too small—by his measure. He wanted to keep himself; he saw his future."
8
