"Footmen with powdered legs!" mused Maggy absently.
Alexandra laughed softly.
"Hair, I mean. Same thing.... And the dinner served like machinery and yet so quietly. None of the waiters—servants—in a hurry, and everything so natural and perfect. I thought I should feel like walking on new-laid eggs, but I didn't at all. Oh, if you lived in a place like this all your life you couldn't help growing noble and behaving beautifully. I don't feel properly vulgar here."
"But you're not vulgar."
"Well, perhaps not properly.... Isn't Mrs. Pardiston a dear? She's 'the Honorable,' isn't she? I think 'the Honorable' sounds more splendid than 'Lady' or even 'Duchess.' 'Honorable!' It means so much. The others are tides, but 'the Honorable' is an—an—"
"Attribute?" supplied Alexandra.
"Yes, that's the word. Isn't it nice of him asking her—his own aunt—to meet us? Oh, Lord!"
"What's the matter?"
"I asked Lord Chalfont not to tell any one we were on the stage. Mrs. Pardiston can't know. She ought to. She's been so sweet to me. Perhaps she wouldn't have been if she'd known. I think I ought to tell her before I go to sleep."
"Why not wait till the morning?" suggested Alexandra.