"He knows a good deal about Warwickshire; in fact, he's writing a book called Warwickshire Worthies. He's been writing it for years. Does Lord Cleveden come from Warwickshire?"
"Of course," said Dorothy, and then after a minute with a far-away look she added, "So do I."
"Oh, Dorothy, then there really is a mystery? I thought it was only dressing-room gossip."
"You have your secrets, Olive. Mayn't I be allowed mine? Though I suppose I haven't any legal right to it, I am going to put my crest on my note-paper, because I like the motto. It's a bugle-horn, and the motto is J'y serai. I needn't translate it for you, as you went to a convent in Belgium."
Olive laughed affectionately at her friend's little joke, and they decided to reap the full advantage of a quiet Sunday by going to bed early.
"He's a great dear, isn't he?" said Olive by the door of her room.
"Oh, a great dear. How horrid it is that a man like that would be so misjudged by the world that he has to keep his name a secret. But, of course, I understand his point of view. I've had some experience of family pride, and it's a tremendous thing to be up against. However, it will be all the same a hundred years hence. Good night, darling. Your great man is a great, great success."
"I'm so glad you like him, Dorothy dear."
"I like him immensely."
Just before Dorothy got into bed she called out to her friend, who in a dressing-gown of amber silk hurried to know what she wanted.