"That is why I want to talk to you, duchess."
"Well, my dear, if you've committed any sins worth hearing I shall enjoy your visit."
"You are as exquisite in kindness as in charm. I am coming this afternoon."
"I will be at home to you and to no one else. There."
"Dear lady, I kiss your hands," said Lord Peter, and he heard a deep chuckle as the duchess rang off.
"You may say what you like, duchess," said Lord Peter from his reverential position on the fender-stool, "but you are the youngest grandmother in London, not excepting my own mother."
"Dear Honoria is the merest child," said the duchess. "I have twenty years more experience of life, and have arrived at the age when we boast of them. I have every intention of being a great-grandmother before I die. Sylvia is being married in a fortnight's time, to that stupid son of Attenbury's."
"Abcock?"
"Yes. He keeps the worst hunters I ever saw, and doesn't know still champagne from sauterne. But Sylvia is stupid, too, poor child, so I dare say they will get on charmingly. In my day one had to have either brains or beauty to get on—preferably both. Nowadays nothing seems to be required but a total lack of figure. But all the sense went out of society with the House of Lords' veto. I except you, Peter. You have talents. It is a pity you do not employ them in politics."