“Yes,” said Dr. O’Grady. “She’s coming with the Lord-Lieutenant to unveil the new statue.”
“How splendid!” said Mrs. Gregg again. “I heard something about the statue, but please tell me more, Dr. O’Grady. I do so want to know.”
“Oh, there’s nothing particular to tell about the statue. It’s to be to the memory of General John Regan, and will be unveiled in the usual way.”
This did not add much to the information which Mr. Gregg, who himself had gleaned what he knew from Sergeant Colgan, had already given her. But Mrs. Gregg was quite content with it. She did not, in fact, want to know anything about the statue. She only asked about it because she thought she ought to. Her mind was dwelling on the dazzling prospect of presenting a bouquet to Lady Chesterton.
“Of course I should love to,” she said. “But I wonder if I could—really, I mean.”
Dr. O’Grady was a man of quick intelligence. He realised at once that Mrs. Gregg had not been listening to his account of the statue, but that she was replying to his original suggestion.
“It’s not the least difficult,” he said. “Anyone could do it, but we’d like to have it done really well. That’s the reason we’re asking you.”
“Don’t you have to walk backwards?” said Mrs. Gregg. “I’d love to do it, of course, but I never have before.”
“There’s no necessity to walk at all. You simply stand in the front row of the spectators with the bouquet in your hand. Then, when she stops opposite you and smiles—she’ll be warned beforehand, of course—and she’s had such a lot of practice that she’s sure to do it right—you curtsey and hand up the bouquet. She’ll take it, and the whole thing will be over.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Gregg, “is that all?”