"Who is he?"
"Oh--er--a friend of mine;" she put up her muff to hide a smile.
"I know that U.S.A. heiress--a nice girl if she did not affect the Wild West of which she knows absolutely nothing. No doubt she thinks it chic to let Europeans hear the American eagle scream in the vernacular. Fancy!--and to Askew! A good match for him. I suppose he will call pounds, shillings and pence collectively dollars now that he is brother to George Washington."
"I don't think so. Mrs. Askew will probably be more English than the English."
"She might easily be that, since the English are mostly aliens nowadays. Well, I must go. Good-bye. I have enjoyed my hour. I always do with you, godmother. Such a clever tongue!"
"I am not leaving you any money, my dear."
"Please don't. Your grandson is finding that opera-dancer expensive. Give Canvey your savings, and his lady-love will dance professionally on your grave."
"I am glad cats don't talk," said the old woman, addressing no one in particular. "One is quite enough."
"Ah, they do talk then," laughed Leah, and having got the last word slipped away before Lady Canvey could rally her forces.
The Duchess, well wrapped up in expensive furs, stepped into the crisp air, thinking of Askew and his triple dip into the matrimonial lucky-bag. Lola Fajardo, Marjory the fixture, and Mamie Mulrady, not to speak of herself, whom he would have married had she cared to call herself by his unpretentious name. Certainly he was a man unfettered by prejudices in love affairs. Dark or fair, tall or short, and of any nationality, he adored them all in an entirely respectable fashion which included a ring and a parson.