Hammersley found Doris with Constance Joyliffe in an alcove. At his approach Lady Joyliffe retired.
“Handsome, no end,” he murmured to her as he sank beside her.
“Handsome is as handsome does, Cyril,” she said slowly. “If you knew what I was thinking of, you wouldn’t be so generous.”
“What?”
“Just what everybody is thinking about you—that you’ve got to do something—enlist to fight—go to France, if only as a chauffeur. They’d let you do that tomorrow if you’d go.”
“Chauffeur! Me! Not really!”
“Yes, that or something else,” determinedly.
“Why?”
She hesitated a moment and then went on distinctly.
“Because I could never marry a man people talked about as people are talking about you.”