"My name," he said, "is Dent, Evelyn Dent."
"Evelyn Dent! But, of course, Sir Evelyn Dent. The Sir Evelyn Dent."
This prompt recognition of his eminence surprised Sir Evelyn. In political circles he was of course well known. Socially, as son, brother and uncle of three succeeding earls, he held a distinguished position. But he scarcely expected to find himself known to a plump lady bathing in a lonely pool. Recollecting Hinton's earlier recognition in the Anchor Inn, it occurred to him that this lady might at one time have been cook in the house of his father, brother or nephew. In the eighteenth century, according to Thackeray, the clergy often married upper servants. For all Sir Evelyn knew they might be doing so still.
With this idea in his mind he smiled in a friendly way. Mrs. Eames, no doubt encouraged by this sign of amiability, climbed out of the pool, sat down on a rock at his feet and began rubbing the water off her legs with curved palms.
"So you know who I am," he said, expecting a confession that she had in other days fried bacon for his breakfast.
But Mrs. Eames had never been a cook and knew Sir Evelyn only as a public man.
"Of course I know who you are," she said. "I have often heard of your splendid work in the Foreign Office—or if it wasn't the Foreign Office, the Treasury."
Sir Evelyn's splendid work had not been done either in the Foreign Office or the Treasury.
"Not quite right," he said.
"A Cabinet Minister, anyhow," said Mrs. Eames, "and frightfully important. Chairman of no end of Royal Commissions."