"Except the gentleman on your right," he answered.
She leaned towards him confidentially.
"His name," she whispered, "is Lord Charles Grantham. He is the son of the Duke of Leicester, who is, between ourselves, almost as wicked a duke as my father is a marquis. Fortunately, however, his mother left him a fortune. Do you notice how thoughtful he looks?"
David Thain glanced across the table at the young man in question, who was exchanging rather weary monosyllables with his right-hand neighbour.
"He is perhaps overworked?"
Letitia shook her head.
"Not at all. He cannot make up his mind whether or not he wants to marry me."
"And can you make up your mind whether you wish to marry him?"
Letitia lost for a moment her air of gentle banter.
"What a downright question!" she observed. "However, I can't tell you before I answer him, can I, and he hasn't asked me yet."