“Yes; but I think I have got a volume of yours on the same shelf, if you are the author of Fig Leaves.”
Despencer became loftily indifferent.
“I remember writing a book with that name when I was a boy. Do people still read it?”
“No; but they still look at the illustrations.”
The marchioness came to the rescue of her satellite.
“Ah! but Mr. Despencer has reformed since then,” she said, with unction. “He is writing a novel in favor of marriage.”
“How daring!” Hammond answered. “Of course it will be refused by the libraries.”
“Come, I sha’n’t allow you to say that marriage is improper,” said the marchioness, with an earnestness that was slightly clumsy. “We still marry in society.”
“You don’t say so!” Hammond pretended to exclaim. “I fancied it had quite gone out. Isn’t it considered a rather middle-class thing to do?”
The marchioness refused to be baffled.