As Cousin Egbert in his American fashion would put
it, she was trying to pass them a bison. But I was willing enough she
should house the dreadful affair. The more private the better, thought
I.
A moment later Belknap-Jackson's car appeared at my door, now
discharging the Klondike woman, effusively escorted by the Mixer and
by Mrs. Belknap-Jackson. The latter at least, I had thought, would
show more principle. But she had buckled atrociously, quite as had her
husband, who had quickly, almost merrily, followed them. There was
increased gayety as they seated themselves about the large table, a
silly noise of pretended felicitation over a calamity that not even
the tenth Earl of Brinstead had been able to avert. And then
Belknap-Jackson beckoned me aside.
"I want your help, old chap, in case it's needed," he began.
"The wedding breakfast and reception?" I said quite cynically.
"You've thought of it? Good! Her own place is far too small. Crowd, of
course. And it's rather proper at our place, too, his lordship having
been our house guest. You see? Use what influence you have. The affair
will be rather widely commented on--even the New York papers, I dare
say."
"Count upon me," I answered blandly, even as I had promised Mrs.
Effie.
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