“There must have been,” said her host. “Besides, things usedn’t to be so bad. Everyone’s got a muck-rake nowadays. They almost sell ’em at the Stores.”
“You haven’t,” said Lady Elizabeth.
“Neither have you,” said the man.
“Perhaps that’s why we get on.”
Pembury raised his eyebrows.
“It’s a tie, certainly,” he said. “Still, you and I hit it off before we thought about muck-rakes. I imagine it’s bigger than that—a question of taste. We’ve always had the same tastes. We’ve always loathed golf——”
“Don’t mention the game,” wailed Elizabeth. “Hilton’s determined to teach me—says the great thing is to learn while you’re young.”
“—an’ loved hunting. We both hate claret and love beer.”
“A vulgar taste,” said my lady. “Hilton would have a fit. When I can’t bear it any more, you must send me a bottle of Bass by parcel post.”
“We’re both of us fools about dogs, if we must see a show we like music with a small ‘m,’ we’re both left-handed, we don’t know what it is to be seasick——”