"
"Other people manage to," said Miss Pinsent skeptically.
"But isn't it rather unfair of Lady Susan--considering that nothing is
known about them?"
"But, my dear, that's the very thing that's against them. It's infinitely
worse than any actual knowledge."
Lydia mentally agreed that, in the case of Mrs. Linton, it possibly might
be.
"I wonder why they came here?" she mused.
"That's against them too. It's always a bad sign when loud people come to
a quiet place. And they've brought van-loads of boxes--her maid told Mrs.
Ainger's that they meant to stop indefinitely."
"And Lady Susan actually turned her back on her in the _salon?_"
"My dear, she said it was for our sakes: that makes it so unanswerable!
But poor Grossart _is_ in a way! The Lintons have taken his most expensive
_suite_, you know--the yellow damask drawing-room above the portico--and
they have champagne with every meal!"
They were silent as Mr. and Mrs. Linton sauntered by; the lady with
tempestuous brows and challenging chin; the gentleman, a blond stripling,
trailing after her, head downward, like a reluctant child dragged by his
nurse.
"What does your husband think of them, my dear?" Miss Pinsent whispered as
they passed out of earshot.
Lydia stooped to pick a violet in the border.
"He hasn't told me."
"Of your speaking to them, I mean. Would he approve of that? I know how
very particular nice Americans are. I think your action might make a
difference; it would certainly carry weight with Lady Susan.
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