Lady Conroy's charming, animated face became blank. She frowned slightly, and a vague look came into her eyes—the pathetic look of someone who is trying to remember.
'Wait a minute—what is it? Oh yes. You know that woman you introduced me to at Dieppe?'
'What woman?'
'Don't you know, dear? Good heavens, it was you who introduced her—you ought to know.'
'Do you mean Madame Frabelle?' asked Edith, who was accustomed to Lady
Conroy, and could follow the drift of her mind.
'Capital! That's it. How wonderful of you! Yes, Madame Frabelle. How do you like her?'
'Very much. But I didn't introduce her to you. You sent her to me.'
'Did I? Well, it's very much the same. Look here, Edith dear. This is what I want to ask you. I remember now. Oh, do you mind ringing the bell for me? I must tell Marie about the tea, in case people call.'
Edith obeyed.
'You see, dear,' went on her hostess, 'I've undertaken a terrific number of things—Belgian refugees, weekly knitting, hundreds of societies—all sorts of war work. Well, you know how busy I am, even without all that, don't you? Thank heaven the boys are at school, but there are the children in the nursery, and I don't leave them—at least hardly ever—to their nurse. I look after them myself—when I think of it. Oh, they've grown such heavenly angels—too sweet! And how's your pet, Dilly?'