Escapade Read Free Page B

which indicates an older woman."
    “Knew about your bill being overdue at Tatt's, too. Shouldn't do that, Clare. Gambling debt—ought to pay up promptly."
    “I cannot believe they were worried about it. There was no dun on my doorstep, and the grand total was five pounds. That one fact, though, indicates a masculine interest.” (It was Sir Herbert who had added that gem, quite by accident.)
    “A man, you mean? I've heard Sheridan mentioned, but surely only a woman could write such stuff as you often read, about gowns, and furbelows, and so on."
    “Mmm, possibly."
    “Someone you've given a heavy set-down. Think a minute."
    “Lord, I could think for days. I've insulted them all."
    “That's true, and the devil only knows why you do it, when they couldn't be nicer to you if you flattered ‘em all hollow."
    “Yes, there's no turning them against a title and fortune. I've been trying for years. I daresay I could call a lady toad-faced and humpbacked, and she'd smile and simper till it's all I can do to keep from shaking her."
    “Still, you shouldn't have said Liza Entwhistle always looked good in that blue gown, for her papa's in the basket, and the truth hurts."
    “Is he indeed? I didn't know that, or I shouldn't have said it. Really, I was sure it was a new gown, or I shouldn't have said a word. I never do cast aspersions on a lady's real faults, only on her pretensions. Except, of course, when her tenacity makes it absolutely essential."
    “What an odd way to go about. You don't make your insults to the point then?"
    “I fear my subtleties are quite wasted on the hoi polloi , but I only accuse a lady of a squint when she is minutely aware that her orbs are her finest feature. Take that lamentable waddle of Sylvia Blakeney, for instance. I would never tell her she waddles like a pig in farrow. It would be too utterly crude. I merely imply she sings like a crow, for she's proud of her voice. Whereas Miss Stinson, who sounds for the world like an unoiled hinge when she opens her mouth—I tease about her black curls, with red roots. She has really lovely hair, naturally black. Sets ‘em down a peg to think the whole town isn't admiring them."
    “Beats me how they all eat up your barbs like honey, but I'm sure it's nothing to me. There's one who ain't afraid to give you back your own anyway, and that's Miss Prattle."
    “Yes, Miss Prattle. Do you think I ought to do something about her—or him? Let us compromise and say ‘it.’ Shall I slay it?"
    “How?"
    “Now what was the weapon St. George used to slay the dragon? A sword, I believe. Shall I run it through, and do society a favor?"
    “Got to find out who she is first."
    “Not necessarily, Bip.” He sipped on a glass of sherry, and held the glass to the light to examine its color and clarity. “It would be nothing without me. If I reformed, its column would sink into a dull hash of who is flirting with whom. I make Miss Prattle, as surely as Brummell made the Prince."
    “By Jove! Doing it too brown. Prinney made Brummell is more like it. His father was Lord North's secretary. Brummell is nothing but the son of a clerk, when all's said and done."
    Clare's gray eyes leaped to Bippy's face, and his tone was cool.
    “Do you infer that Miss Prattle makes me?” he asked.
    “Course not. Didn't mean any such a thing. The way it works, though, you wouldn't be talked about so much if Prattle didn't jot down every word you say and write it up in her column every time you buy a new bit o’ blood or give a party. She does give you a certain éclat you wouldn't have otherwise. Calling you The Great Absent One when you didn't make it to your party that time, and Clare the Bare when you first got your hair cut au naturel . All that sort of nonsense. In a way, she does make you."
    “Makes me a laughing stock!” Clare said angrily.
    “Well, ‘pon my word, Clare, never knew you to pay so much attention to her before. What's gotten into you?"
    “Assaults on my