They asked about her work in London, and Lydia told them about the great ledgers, and the bills and the invoices, and of how Madame Elena had practically said that she should leave Lydia in charge of the other girls, when she went to Paris to buy new models for Easter.
She also told them about the other young ladies, of Gina Ryott’s good looks, and the cleverness and independence of little Rosie Graham, who lived in such nice rooms with a girl friend.
“And do they make you comfortable at the boarding-house?” Aunt Evelyn asked solicitously.
“Yes, very comfortable—and there were such nice superior people there. There was a Miss Forster, who played Bridge splendidly, and was great friends with a Sir Rupert and Lady Honoret, who lived in Lexham Gardens.”
“Fancy!” Aunt Evelyn ejaculated. “I’ve seen Lady Honoret’s name in print, too, I’m almost certain.”
And the Bulteels were a nice family, Lydia said, with a clever son who went to Gower Street University.
“A great many clever folk in the world,” said Mr. Monteagle Almond sententiously. “And no doubt you’ll meet many of them in London. But I think, if you’ll excuse personalities, that you’ll find it’s as I say—the true mathematical mind is a very rare thing in one of your sex.”
Lydia’s relations looked at her admiringly.
Only Grandpapa, with a detached expression, occupied himself in making a great fuss about Shamrock.
That night, when Lydia said good night to him, the old man fixed his eyes upon her with his most impish-looking twinkle.