"In a sense, I suppose," said he affably. "Of course, Sara puts you down as a friend."
"I think you'd better understand my real position, Mr. Wrandall," said she firmly.
"I do," said he. "You are Sara's friend. That's enough for me. The fact that your father was or is a distinguished English army officer, and some sort of a cousin to a lord, and that you have the entre to fashionable London drawing-rooms, is quite enough for mother. That qualifies you to be companion to anybody, she'd say. And there's the end to it."
She was looking at him in amazement. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes were wide. For a moment she was puzzled. Then a swift smile illumined her face. She understood.
"Of course, in London, it really isn't anything to boast about, getting into drawing-rooms," she said, vastly amused.
"Well, it is over here," said he promptly.
"And it isn't always open sesame to be related to a peer."
"I suppose not."
"Nevertheless, I am glad that your mother and Miss Vivian take me for what I am. Do you, by any chance, go in for pedigree, Mr. Wrandall?"
The shaft of irony sped over his head.