Lady Malmerstoke was showing the dainty roll to Sir Maurice.
"An ode to my wig," she told him. "Written in French."
"An ode to your what?" asked Thomas.
"My wig, Tom, my wig! You were not here when we discussed it. Cleone thought it a prodigious ugly wig, but Philip would have none of it. He said such pretty things about it, and promised me an ode for it! Philip, did I thank you?"
Philip was bowing over Cleone's hand. He turned.
"With your eyes, madame, eloquently! But I need no thanks; it was an honour and a joy."
"Think of that!" nodded my lady, looking from Tom to Sir Maurice. "Philip, come and be presented to Mistress Jennifer. Or do you know her?"
Philip released Cleone's hand, and swung round.
"Jennifer! Of course I know her!" He went across the room. "Why, Jenny, where do you spring from? How are you?"
Jennifer gazed up at him with wide eyes.