“Does she?”
“Lady Alanby spoke of it to Sir Nigel, and I heard Sir Nigel tell her.”
“Exactly the kind of unnecessary thing he would be likely to repeat.” He cast the subject aside as if it were a worthless superfluity and went on: “When you say there is no one suitable, you surely forget Lord Westholt.”
“Yes, it's true I forgot him for the moment. But—” with a laugh—“one rather feels as if she would require a royal duke or something of that sort.”
“You think she expects that kind of thing?” rather indifferently.
“She? She doesn't think of the subject. She simply thinks of other things—of Lady Anstruthers and Ughtred, of the work at Stornham and the village life, which gives her new emotions and interest. She also thinks about being nice to people. She is nicer than any girl I know.”
“You feel, however, she has a right to expect it?” still without more than a casual air of interest.
“Well, what do you feel yourself?” said Lady Mary. “Women who look like that—even when they are not millionairesses—usually marry whom they choose. I do not believe that the two beautiful Miss Gunnings rolled into one would have made anything as undeniable as she is. One has seen portraits of them. Look at her as she stands there talking to Tommy and Lord Dunholm!”
Internally Mount Dunstan was saying: “I am looking at her, thank you,” and setting his teeth a little.
But Lady Mary was launched upon a subject which swept her along with it, and she—so to speak—ground the thing in.