“The name of the charming lady who has so kindly helped to brighten up Mr. Fallaray’s week-end.”
“Madame de Brézé, Sir.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” He had never heard it before. Married then, or a widow. French. ’Um. “And she is staying with——”
“Lady Cheyne, Sir.”
“Oh, yes,—that house——”
“A stone’s throw from the gate in the wall, Sir. You can see the roof from this window.”
“Thanks very much, Elmer. How’s your son getting on now?”
“Very well indeed, Sir, thank you, owing to your kindness.”
“A very good fellow,—a first-rate soldier. One of our best junior officers. Not too much soda, then.”
“No, Sir.” He left the room like an elderly sun-beam.