“Because companions, like Grooms of the Chambers, do not figure in the table of relative precedence, whereas. . . .”
Spring stared out of the window and into the park.
“You’ve seen him,” she said. “Twice. But then you knew that.”
Willoughby nodded.
“I should say,” he said quietly, “that he was one of the best.”
“In fact, if I don’t accept, I shall be selling a bed of roses for the second ‘o’ in smoke?”
Willoughby set his teeth.
“Dear Spring,” he said, “I can’t advise your heart—only your head. But I’m bound to say that, placed as you are, you should do what your head tells you, if you possibly can. Think of the future.”
“I do,” said Spring. “That’s what worries me so.”
“Supposing Mrs. Le Fevre were to die and you to fall sick.”