Rollo Wrissell.
"Mr. Wrissell!" she murmured, smiling.
"In the end I told Mr. Wrissell to go and bury himself," said Edward
Henry. "And that's about as far as I've got."
"Oh, don't!" she said, her voice weak from suppressed laughter, and
then the laughter burst forth uncontrollable.
"Yes," he said, delighted with himself and her. "I told him to go and
bury himself!" "I suppose you don't like Mr. Wrissell?"
"Well--" he temporized.
"I didn't at first," she said. "I hated him. But I like him now,
though I must say I adore teasing him. Mr. Wrissell is what I call
a gentleman. You know he was Lord Woldo's heir. And when Lord Woldo
married me it was a bit of a blow for him! But he took it like a lamb.
He never turned a hair, and he was more polite than any of them.
I daresay you know Lord Woldo saw me in a musical comedy at
Scarborough--he has a place near there, ye know. Mr. Wrissell had
made him angry about some of his New Thought fads, and I do believe
he asked me to marry him just to annoy Mr. Wrissell. He used to say to
me, my husband did, that he'd married me in too much of a hurry,
and that it was too bad on Mr. Wrissell. And then he laughed, and I
laughed too. 'After all,' he used to say, my husband did, 'To marry an
actress is an accident that might happen to any member of the House
of Lords--and it does happen to a lot of 'em--but they don't marry
anything as beautiful as you, Blanche,' he used to say.
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