"You don't mean to keep me there always."
"No, not always; but when you come back to London it may be to another house."
"You don't mean St. James' Square?" But that was just what he did mean. "I hope we shan't have to live in that prison."
"It's one of the best houses in London," said Lord George, with a certain amount of family pride. "It used to be, at least, before the rich tradesmen had built all those palaces at South Kensington."
"It's dreadfully dingy."
"Because it has not been painted lately. Brotherton has never done anything like anybody else."
"Couldn't we keep this and let that place?"
"Not very well. My father and grandfather, and great-grandfather lived there. I think we had better wait a bit and see." Then she felt sure that the glory was coming. Lord George would never have spoken of her living in St. James' Square had he not felt almost certain that it would soon come about.
Early in February her father came to town, and he was quite certain. "The poor wretch can't speak articulately," he said.
"Who says so, papa?"