The
presence of Miss Palliser paralysed him. He wondered whether he ought
to say anything to her or to Miss Harden, or to neither or to both; he
tried to think of something suitable to say.
Meanwhile Miss Palliser talked for all three. It seemed that she had
dined with her friend on her way to an "at home" in Harmouth.
"Bread and butter?" said she judicially "N--no, I think not, thanks.
I've got to eat jellies and sandwiches and things for two hours
straight on end. It sounds horrible, but I shall be driven to it. At
the Flossers," she explained for her friend's benefit, "you must
either eat or talk; and if you can't talk scandal you're not expected
to talk at all." And still talking Miss Palliser slowly bore down upon
Mr. Rickman with a plate of bread and butter.
Mr. Rickman's earnest and chivalrous endeavour to forestall her caused
a rug to slide under his feet. It slid, and Mr. Rickman with it, for
quite a considerable distance; and though Mr. Rickman, indeed,
preserved the erect attitude by a series of complicated movements (a
superb triumph of muscular ingenuity, but somewhat curious and
fantastic as a spectacle), his coffee cup flung itself violently on
its side, and poured out its contents at the lady's feet.
He looked at Miss Harden. She was smiling; for who wouldn't have
smiled? But her smile became almost tender in her perception of his
distress.
Miss Palliser continued to talk.
"Ah," said Miss Palliser, "I was waiting for that to happen.
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