At last Sir Duke rose. “Just—”
“Yes? Go on.”
“Do you think she would have me now?”
“Don’t know. Your outfit is not so beautiful as it used to be.”
“Don’t chaff me.”
“Don’t be so funereal, then.”
Under the Honourable’s matter of fact air Sir Duke’s face began to clear. “Tell me, do you think she still cares for me?”
“Well, I don’t know. She’s rich now—got the grandmother’s stocking. Then there’s Pedley, of the Scots Guards; he has been doing loyal service for a couple of years. What does the letter say?”
“It only tells the truth, as you have told it to me, but from her standpoint; not a word that says anything but beautiful reproach and general kindness. That is all.”
“Quite so. You see it was all four years ago, and Pedley—”