aumont charming, rather than that it should
have been the other way about.

But it was not because Mrs. Beaumont called her fascinating that Daisy
labelled that unconscious lady as horrid; it was because she had made
the suggestion that Lord Lindfield and her aunt had missed the train on
purpose, in order, so it followed, that they should drive down together
in the motor whose second thoughts were so admirable. Daisy scorned the
insinuation altogether; she felt that she degraded herself by allowing
herself to think of it. But that had been clearly implied.

The group round the tea-table had dispersed, and she easily found
herself next Aunt Alice.

"Everything is in order, dear Aunt Alice," she said, "and Gladys has
worked so hard. But I don't think I should have come down yesterday if I
had known there was a symphony concert this afternoon. What did they
have?"

"Brahms, I think," said Lady Nottingham, vaguely. "There is Brahms,
isn't there? Neither Jeannie nor Lord Lindfield quite knew. They went to
see."

"But when did they settle to go and see?" asked Daisy.

"Last night, I think. Oh, yes, at the Opera last night.--Yes, Mr.
Crowfoot, of course you may have another cup. Sugar?--He came to my
box--Lord Lindfield, I mean--and was so delighted to meet your Aunt
Jeannie again.--Yes, I put in one lump, Mr. Crowfoot. Is that right?"

Lady Nottingham certainly succeeded admirably in the lightness of touch
she gave to the little speech. She knew, as well as if Daisy had told
her in so many words, the sort of feeling that had dictated Daisy's
rather catechism-questions about the manner of Jeannie and Lindfield
settling to go to the concert, and what there was at the concert. But
the lightness of touch was not easy; she knew quite well, and did not
fail to remember, that a few days ago only she had advised Daisy to have
her answer ready when (not "if") Lord Lindfield proposed to her. He had
certainly not done so, but Daisy had evidently not expected him to go to
a concert with her aunt and miss his train and drive down with her. She
had no reason to suppose that anything that could be called jealousy was
as yet existent in Daisy's mind. She only, perhaps, wanted to know
exactly what had happened.

Jim Crowfoot had only paused like a bird on the wing, pouncing on
morsels of things to eat, and having got his second cup of tea he flew
off again instantly to Mrs. Majendie, whom he was regaling with a shrill
soliloquy. Thu