“Why that you’ve found the opening you were always so sure of.”
Mrs. Jordan, on this, appeared to muse with embarrassed intensity. “I was always sure, yes—and yet I often wasn’t!”
“Well, I hope you’re sure now. Sure, I mean, of Mr. Drake.”
“Yes, my dear, I think I may say I am. I kept him going till I was.”
“Then he’s yours?”
“My very own.”
“How nice! And awfully rich?” our young woman went on.
Mrs. Jordan showed promptly enough that she loved for higher things. “Awfully handsome—six foot two. And he has put by.”
“Quite like Mr. Mudge, then!” that gentleman’s friend rather desperately exclaimed.
“Oh not quite!” Mr. Drake’s was ambiguous about it, but the name of Mr. Mudge had evidently given her some sort of stimulus. “He’ll have more opportunity now, at any rate. He’s going to Lady Bradeen.”