Tea is set on a small
table close to LADY CHILTERN.]
LADY CHILTERN. May I give you some tea, Mrs. Cheveley?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Thanks. [The butler hands MRS. CHEVELEY a cup of tea
on a salver.]
LADY CHILTERN. Some tea, Lady Markby?
LADY MARKBY. No thanks, dear. [The servants go out.] The fact is,
I have promised to go round for ten minutes to see poor Lady
Brancaster, who is in very great trouble. Her daughter, quite a
well-brought-up girl, too, has actually become engaged to be married
to a curate in Shropshire. It is very sad, very sad indeed. I can't
understand this modern mania for curates. In my time we girls saw
them, of course, running about the place like rabbits. But we never
took any notice of them, I need hardly say. But I am told that
nowadays country society is quite honeycombed with them. I think it
most irreligious. And then the eldest son has quarrelled with his
father, and it is said that when they meet at the club Lord
Brancaster always hides himself behind the money article in THE
TIMES. However, I believe that is quite a common occurrence nowadays
and that they have to take in extra copies of THE TIMES at all the
clubs in St. James's Street; there are so many sons who won't have
anything to do with their fathers, and so many fathers who won't
speak to their sons. I think myself, it is very much to be
regretted.
MRS. CHEVELEY.
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