“The Howards of which?” she asked. “I never heard of the place. I’ll ask him.”
There was a pause, then she said:
“What was that other name on the card?”
“Norman?” he said.
“No; Lord.”
“That’s not a name,” he explained; “that’s a title. I’m called lord because my father was in the peerage; but you know all that.”
“No, I don’t,” she said. “We haven’t got any lords in the camp. We’ve got a man who’s a—baronet—yes, that’s it; but we don’t call him lord; the boys call him Smifkens. I don’t think that’s his real name; but scarcely anybody goes by his right name in the camp, especially if it’s a grand one. They don’t like grand names. I dare say they’ll call you something different.”
He laughed.
“I don’t mind,” he said.
“I’ve read about lords somewhere,” she remarked. “But I always thought they wore long robes trimmed with fur, and had a kind of crown on their heads.”