"The Murgatroyds go back to old Henry, straight as a plummet. 'Gad, what Vivvy doesn't know about British aristocracy isn't worth knowing. She looked it up the time they tried to convince her she ought to marry the duke. But she's fond of Hetty. She says she's a darling. She's right: Hetty is too good for me."
Sara swished her gown about and rose gracefully from the chaise-longue. Extending her hand to him she said, and he was never to forget the deep thrill in her voice:
"Well, I wish you good luck, Leslie. Don't take no for an answer."
"Lord, if she SHOULD say no," he gasped, confronted by the possibility of such stupidity on Hetty's part. "You don't think she will?"
Her answer was a smile of doubt, the effect of which was to destroy his tranquillity for hours.
"It is time for luncheon. I suppose we'll have to interrupt them. Perhaps it is just as well, for your sake," she said tauntingly.
He grinned, but it was a sickly effort.
"You're the one to spoil anything of that sort," he said, with some ascerbity.
"I?"
"Certainly," he said with so much meaning in the word that she flushed.