"I see I've talked for nothing," said Leighton. "It isn't the Folly person that flattened me out. It's what's around her, outside of her."
"That's what you think," said Hélène. "But, still, it's she I'd like to see."
"That's lucky," said Leighton, "because you 're going to."
"When?"
"To-morrow. Lunch."
"What's the idea?"
"The idea is this. I've been looking her up, viewing her cradle and her mother's cradle and that sort of thing. I'd have liked to have viewed her father's as well, but it's a case of cherchez l'homme."
"Well?"
"Well, the young lady's an emanation from sub-Cockneydom. My idea is that that kind can't stand the table and grande-dame test. I'll supply the table, with fixtures, and you're going to be the grande-dame." Leighton's face suddenly became boyishly pleading. "Will you, Hélène? It's more than an imposition to ask; it's an impertinence."
For a moment Hélène was serious and looked it.