“I do. What d’ye think of her—hay?”
“Very urban Sir Geoffrey.”
“What d’ye call her? Urban? God bless my soul! What words you use! Where d’ye get your vocabulary from?”
Fishpingle answered deprecatingly:
“From you, Sir Geoffrey, from my lady, and from the dictionary.”
“Urban—eh? Well, why not? When you and I were her age, we liked London—what? I know I did. And I should like to see Master Lionel in Parliament. Between ourselves, Ben, I am hoping and praying that Master Lionel and Lady Margot will take a shine to each other. She liked his photograph, b’ Jove? And if I do say it, there isn’t a nicer young fellow in England. You’re starin’ at me like an owl. Can’t you say something?”
“I took the liberty of looking Lady Margot up in the Peerage.”
“Did you? Well, you found a thumpin’ good pedigree. No better stock anywhere.”
“What there is of it, Sir Geoffrey.”
“Hay.”