"Do you know whom you take in, Mr. Brooks?" Selina interrupted.
Brooks glanced at the card in his hand.
"Mrs. Seventon," he said. "Yes, thanks."
Selina looked up at him with an arch smile.
"Mrs. Seventon is most dreadfully proper," she said. "You will have to
be on your best behaviour. Oh, here comes some one. What a bother!"
There was an influx of guests. Mrs. Bullsom, reduced to a state of
chaotic nervousness, was pushed as far into the background as possible
by her daughters, and Mr. Bullsom, banished from the hearth where he
felt surest of himself, plunged into a conversation with Mr. Seventon
on the weather. Brooks leaned over towards Mary.
"Wednesday week at eight o'clock, then," he said. "I want to have a
chat with you about the subject."
"Not now," she interposed. "You know these people, don't you, and the
Huntingdons? Go and talk to them, please."
Brooks laughed, and went to the rescue. He won Mrs. Bullsom's eternal
gratitude by diverting Mrs. Seventon's attention from her, and thereby
allowing her a moment or two to recover herself. Somehow or other a
buzz of conversation was kept up until the solemn announcement of
dinner.
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