“Well, are they married?”
“Yes.”
“There we are. Do you know them?”
“Yes—in a way.”
“I see,” she exclaimed angrily. “They look down on you, do they, poor boy? Wait!” He assented. “Wait! I’ll soon stop that. Now, who else is there?”
“The marchese, sometimes, and the canons of the Collegiate Church.”
“Married?”
“The canons—” he began with twinkling eyes.
“Oh, I forgot your horrid celibacy. In England they would be the centre of everything. But why shouldn’t I know them? Would it make it easier if I called all round? Isn’t that your foreign way?”
He did not think it would make it easier.