Mr. Barradine had always
borne a good heart to her and hers.
"Capital!" said Mr. Ridgett, visibly brightening. "A friend at
court--what's the proverb? It's not for me to let fall any remarks
about wire-pulling. But naturally there's a freemasonry among the
bigwigs. You take my tip, and use Mr. Barradine's interest for all
it's worth."
"Well," said Dale, "he has given a promise--of a sort--and I shan't
bother him further."
After that the talk became light again. As if the strain of her
anxiety was more than Mavis Dale could bear for long at a time, she
plunged into frivolous discussion, telling Mr. Ridgett of the
splendors and beauties of the Abbey House. It was a show-place. Its
gardens surpassed belief; royal persons came hundreds of miles to look
at them. And the wild historic woodland of Manninglea Chase was
famous, it was said, all over Europe. Talking thus, she seemed as gay
and careless as a child of ten.
Mr. Ridgett, puffing his pipe luxuriously, contemplated her animated
face with undisguised admiration; and presently Dale felt irritated by
the admiring scrutiny.
That was what always happened. At first he felt pleased that people
should admire his wife; but if they seemed to admire her the least
little shade too much, he became angry.
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