'Don't you think yourself I need someone?'
'Yes, I do. I think it would be very convenient for you to have a nice girl with a good memory to keep your things in order.'
'That's it,' cried Lady Conroy, delighted, as she lit a cigarette. 'That's it—someone who will prevent me dropping cigarette ash all over the room and remember my engagements and help me with my war work and write my letters and do the telephoning. That's all I shall want. Of course, if she could do a little needlework—No, no, that wouldn't do. You couldn't expect her to do brainwork as well as needlework.'
Edith broke in.
'Do you remember mentioning to me a girl you met at Boulogne—a nurse called Dulcie Clay?'
'Perfectly well,' answered Lady Conroy, puffing away at her cigarette, and obviously not speaking the truth.
Edith laughed.
'No, my dear, you don't. But it doesn't matter. Well, this girl has been nursing Mr Aylmer Ross, and he doesn't need her any more—at least he won't after next week. Would you see her and judge for yourself? You might try her.'
'I'm sure I shall if I take her. I'm afraid I'm a trying person. I try everyone dreadfully. Oh, by the way, Edith, I met such a perfect angel coming over. He was a wounded soldier. He belongs to the Black Watch. Doesn't the name Black Watch thrill you? He's in the Irish Guards, so, of course, my heart went out to him.'
'The Irish Guards as well?'