"They don't look on themselves in that light."
"Let them look at you—the girls I mean—in any light, there, on their native heath, where practically no competition can exist. For who ever heard of an American heiress marrying an American man?"
"I suppose it must happen sometimes," said Val.
"It's never in the newspapers. No, dearest, I believe that is why, according to statistics, there are so many more men than women in the States. The girls marry our men. And really some of them are quite presentable."
If any one of three or four beautiful and charming Duchesses had heard the tone in which old Lady Loveland said this, she would have laughed or sneered, according to her mood.
"Do you know many Americans, Val?" his mother went on, thoughtfully.
"Hardly any except Jim Harborough, and—er—his cousin who has married Stanforth."
(This was another instance of a misguided young woman who preferred a Duke to the Marquis. Therefore she remained nameless between mother and son.)
"Mr. Harborough would, I suppose, give you letters of introduction to the Right People over there?"
"Oh, yes, I suppose he would. He doesn't approve of me; but he couldn't refuse letters to his wife's cousin."