Mrs. Dexter nodded, and giggled.
“The girl is in England now, you know, with Mrs. Loftus—and about to make a grand match.”
Lady Foxrock had touched the right chord; the little colonial was filled with a sudden spasm of envy.
“A splendid match—she!”
“Yes, to the son of a lord.”
“Oh—what!” and she burst out into an excited laugh. “Well, I declare, this is too fine a joke. If they only knew—wouldn’t they be wild!”
“Knew what?”
“Oh, I’d better not say—it might get out. I don’t want to be a spoil-sport; and Joe hates what he calls ‘gossip,’” and she put her finger on her lips.
Lady Foxrock drew herself up and looked dignified. “I assure you that I never gossip, Mrs. Dexter. If you can tell me who this girl was, and is, you will be doing me an enormous favour, and one I shall not forget; but, of course, if you feel that you have no wish to confide in me—and after all I am a stranger——” she paused, and her smile implied a threat.
After all, she was Lady Foxrock, and if she was denied this small request, good-bye to a box at the Opera, an invitation for Lady Foxrock’s fancy ball—and other delights.