Lady Massingberd began counting on her brown, strong fingers.
“One selfish: two shallow: three without sense of humour: four genteel: five snob,” she said. “There’s a nice handful of qualities.”
Lady Grote laughed again: she had the laugh of a child, open mouthed and abandoned.
“You won’t listen to my explanation,” she said. “I’ve explained away everything but genteel, which I can’t do, and now I’ll explain away snob. You aren’t in the least a snob in the ordinary sense: you don’t like princes better than dukes and dukes than marquises, like Mr. Boyton who is coming down here this evening, but you like a certain quality which you call breeding. If a prince hasn’t got it you don’t like him. Lots of them haven’t. But you like a certain quality which usually goes with generations of living comfortably in castles. Now I don’t, at least I don’t like that to the exclusion of those who haven’t got it. I can make friends with those who haven’t got a trace of it. Indeed, I think I must have had some great-great-grandmother who came from the music-halls, if they had them in those days, and heredity makes me want to go back there.”
“I can’t think why people are down on snobs,” remarked Lord Thorley, in his slow, suave voice. “Snobs are so pleasant if one happens to be an earl or something. But the earl-variety of snob is unfortunately becoming rather scarce. They ought to create snobs instead of peers. With a pension.”
“Henry so often appears to be talking nonsense when he is really talking sense,” remarked Lady Grote. “He hasn’t had the opportunity to talk much at present owing to Gracie and me. Shall we let him talk for a little?”
“If he’s got anything to say,” remarked Lady Massingberd austerely.
“He has. I always know when Henry has something to say, because when he has something to say he is rather silent; when he has nothing to say, he talks.”
“You’re the biggest snob I know, Helen,” said Henry gently.
“That sounds like having something to say. Do say it.”