Mrs. Graham took no notice of it. She walked straight to a little writing-table in the corner of the room and sat down. "As I suppose you are wondering what on earth I am doing here," she said, "I'll tell you. I had a letter this morning from Anne Conyers, who asked me to come and see Lady George, as she didn't know a soul in the county. I'm only too pleased to; we're such a set of rustics here that it does us good to get somebody new, if they're not nincompoops like those people we've just got rid of at Mountfield. I thought I would drop in this afternoon. If she's sensible she won't mind my coming in these clothes. If she isn't I don't want to know her. You know her; you don't think she'll mind, eh?"
"Oh, of course not."
"I'm just going to write her a note asking her to dine to-morrow. Jim and Muriel are coming, and Roddy Buckstone. Will you and Humphrey come, Dick? We don't want too many women."
"I don't know about Humphrey. I shall be pleased to."
"Well, that's all right. You might take a message from me to Humphrey."
"I'd rather you wrote a note to him—and posted it."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Graham in a voice that invited explanation.
But Dick gave none.
"Lady George has a friend staying with her—Miss Dexter," he said. "You'd better ask her too, I think."
"Oh, of course. Thank you for telling me. Miss Dexter."