“Sorry,” Wingrave answered, “if I ever had, I’ve forgotten it.”
“Then I must call you Wingrave,” she remarked. “I hate calling anyone I know decently well Mr. anything.”
“Charmed,” Wingrave answered; “it isn’t a bad name.”
“It isn’t,” she admitted. “By the bye,” she continued, looking at him critically, “you are rather a surprising person, aren’t you?”
“Glad you’ve found it out,” Wingrave answered. “I always thought so.”
“One associates all sorts of terrible things with millionaires—especially African and American ones,” she remarked. “Now you could pass anywhere for the ordinary sort of decent person.”
Wingrave nodded.
“I was told the other day,” he remarked reflectively, “that if I would only cultivate two things, I might almost pass as a member of the English aristocracy.”
“What were they?” she asked rashly.
“Ignorance and impertinence,” he answered.