"Of Kensington?" asked the Nun in a tone of polite interest.
"Yes, Kensington Palace Gardens," Billy replied, tranquilly unconscious of any other than the obvious bearing of the question. "I thought you must have heard of them." (The Nun never had, though she had seen at least one of them.) "The old man made a pile out in Mexico. They're very good sort of people."
"You brought one of the girls to hear me one night, didn't you?"
"Yes. Well, she's the only girl, in fact—Amaranth's her name. Rather silly, but that's not her fault, is it?" He seemed anxious to forestall criticism.
"You can call her Amy—or even Aimée," suggested the Nun consolingly.
Billy laughed. "Have you heard it, or did you guess, Doris?"
"Guessed it. I can guess any conundrum, however baffling. I'm awfully glad, Billy. I'm sure you'll be tremendously happy. When did it happen—and when is it going to happen?"
"About a month ago—and in about three months' time. Didn't you think her pretty?"
"Very pretty," said the Nun, presuming on a somewhat cursory inspection of Miss Amaranth. "And I suppose that since the old man made his pile—?"
"Oh, well, there are two sons. Still—yes, that's all right."