She had arisen at a painfully early hour that day–hardly a moment’s later than twelve o’clock, a scandalous time to be up and about–with the express intention of visiting Lady Marthwaite’s salon. Patience Marthwaite was the silliest of females, but always amusing, and she was a matchless source of ton gossip. Lady Detweiler had occasion to stand in awe of the woman, hen-witted as she was, for anticipating even Amanda in some choice bit of scandal. And this day’s intelligence had not been a disappointment. “Oh, my heavens,” called out Patience, upon seeing Lady Detweiler at the door, “you have no idea what I’ve discovered! No idea whatsoever, my dear, the town is absolutely a-twitter!” “Good morning, Lady Marthwaite,” said Amanda, handing her wrap to the waiting footman. Patience sometimes became astonished over the most minor of contretemps; she would not raise her hopes as yet. “Lud!” said Lady Marthwaite, unable to keep her seat in all the excitement. She rushed forward to greet Amanda, as the other ladies in the room–three or four fellow hen-wits, Lady Detweiler noticed–smiled and nodded, waiting for their hostess to take the lead.
