“I wonder if you know Lady Margot Maltravers?”
“Know her, my dear fellow? Everybody knows La Reine Margot.”
“You call her that, do you?”
“I don’t. Her Majesty doesn’t bother with the likes of me.”
Lionel tried to disguise his astonishment. At Eton his companion had cut “a wide swath.” He was in “Pop,” and a member of the School XI, a bright star, shining high above Lionel. And now, when they met again, Lionel was well aware that in Mrs. Grundy’s shrewd eyes, and in the eyes of marriageable young women, a handsome captain of the Household Cavalry loomed larger than a Green Jacket subaltern.
“What do you mean, Tom?”
“Just what I say. She’s a clever nut is Margot. She consorts with the highbrows. Know her? Why, your old governor met her in our house. She’s took an uncommon shine to him. He cut us all out.”
“She is coming to stay with us in a fortnight.”
“Is she?” He glanced sharply at Lionel. “Then look out! She’ll keep her hand in with you. Her weapons don’t get rusty from not usin’ ’em.”
“Flirtatious—eh?”