"My dear mother!" Char opened her eyes in an expression of exaggerated horror. "One of my staff?"
"Well?" queried Lady Vivian coolly, stripping off her borrowed overall.
"Quite out of the question. You don't in the least realize the official footing on which I have to keep those women."
"I should have thought you needn't be any the less official for showing some friendliness to a girl who's come all the way from Wales to help you."
"She's my under-secretary, mother."
"What! sub-scrub to the genteel Miss Delmege? She's got ten times her brains, and is a lady into the bargain."
It infuriated Char that her mother's cool, tacit refusal to acknowledge the infallibility of the Director of the Midland Supply Depôt could always make her feel like a little girl again.
She rallied all her most official mannerisms together.
"It's quite impossible for me to differentiate between the various members of the staff, or to make any unofficial advances to any of them."
"Very well, my dear. As, thank Heaven, I'm not a member of your staff, I can remain as unofficial as I please, and have nice little Miss Jones out to see me."