It was Lord Meadshire himself, who, coming across her passing through one of the smaller drawing-rooms, did what she wanted. "What! not dancing?" he asked in his friendly way; and with a searching glance at his kind old face she said, "I have something else to do. I want to speak to Mrs. Clinton, but I don't know her."
He looked at her in return with a momentary seriousness. "Want to gain a convert, eh?" he asked. He liked her plain sensible face, and the way she stood, square to him and to the world. "Tell me now, is this a serious business?"
She did not answer him directly. "She's one of the best women in the world," she said. "Perhaps I'm the only person who really knows what she's been through and how she has taken it. She has come out of her troubles pure gold. And anybody can see for themselves that she is beautiful and has a charm all her own."
"Oh yes, anybody can see that," said Lord Meadshire. "She's a sweet creature. And Dick Clinton wants to marry her. He's serious, eh?"
"I think he has proved it," said Miss Dexter.
Lord Meadshire considered this. He had heard that Dick had retired from the army, but not about his having taken an estate agency. "I suppose he is," he said.
"They ought to know her," said Miss Dexter. "People ought not to hug prejudices that have no reason."
Lord Meadshire looked at her with his mischievous smile. "A matter of abstract right and wrong—what?" he said. "Well, come along, and I'll introduce you. But you must tell me your name, which I'm afraid I have forgotten, although I know quite well who you are, you know."
"Yes. I'm Lady George Dubec's companion, and my name is Dexter," she said.
Lord Meadshire loved a little conspiracy. His eyes twinkled at her as he said, "This dance is coming to an end, and people will be here in a minute. You would like to talk to her by yourselves. Go into the conservatory there, and leave it all to me."