"You did," replied the person addressed, answering with a smile to the name which he had earned in playing the part of Molly Randolph's chauffeur, in the making of their love story.
"Women always know things about each other—the sort of things the others don't want them to know," Molly went on; "but there's no use in our warning men who think they are in love with Calculating Cats, because they would be certain we were jealous. Of course I shouldn't say this to you, Lord Lane, if you hadn't taken me into your confidence a little—that night of my first London ball."
"It was the night I proposed to Nell," I said, half to myself.
"Sir Horace Jerveyson was at the ball, too."
"Talking to Lady Blantock."
"And looking at Miss Blantock. I noticed, and—I put things together."
"Who would ever have thought of putting those two together?"
"I did. I said to myself and afterwards to Jack—may I tell you what I said?"
"Please do. If it hurts, it will be a counter-irritant."
"Well, Jack had told me such heaps about you, you know, and he'd hinted that, while we were having our great romance on a motor car, you were having one on toboggans and skates at Davos, so I was interested. Then I saw her at the ball, and we were introduced. She was pretty, but—a prize white Persian kitten is pretty; also it has little claws. She liked you, of course, because you're young and good-looking. Besides, her father was knighted only because he discovered a new microbe or something, while you're a 'hearl,' as my new maid says."