Lady Pomfret “sat up,” in every sense of that slangy phrase.
“Bless me! He told you that?”
“Not he. I guessed. You reign supreme.”
Margot sighed. Not without reason had an inspired minor poet given her the nickname—La Reine Margot. She wished to reign, not merely over men, but with a wider dominion over all—something difficult of achievement in London. As the châtelaine of Beaumanoir Chase this dominating instinct might have been gratified. She could say bitter things about the Salique law. Lady Pomfret wondered why such a visitor, so “smart” (to use an odious word), had settled down contentedly at Pomfret Court, where the entertainment of a town guest must be considered hum-drum. At this moment light came to her. She divined that Margot was studying intelligently conditions which made petty sovereignty possible. She remembered the “pumping” of Joyce, which amused her at the time. Purpose underlay the many questions. She remembered, also, that Margot missed no opportunity of ingratiating herself with Bonsor and others at the Home Farm. She supposed that this was Margot’s “way” (which paid!), and part of a sincere desire to please the Squire. Lastly, regarding her own son with a fond mother’s eye, she had been shrewd enough to realise that, matrimonially, he was no great “catch” for an heiress of quality. In her heart, whilst humouring her husband, she had confidently expected a “débâcle.” A dasher had dashed at a new experience. Very soon, such a personage would be bored and flit elsewhere, a case, in fine, of Marie Antoinette milking cows!
And now, swiftly, she was modifying these premature conclusions. To make assured her new foundations, she, too, cast a fly. As a fisherman, she was quite as adroit as Margot.
“I reign happily over a small establishment. My rule, such as it is, imposes penalties. In my place, Margot, you would be bored.”
Margot “rose” instantly. The fly stuck fast in her throat. And the moment had come, she decided, when sincerity would best serve her purpose. She replied eagerly—
“Dear Lady Pomfret, you are so clever, but indeed you are mistaken. Sir Geoffrey, oddly enough, this very morning, seemed surprised when I told him that I was not bored. I ask you, as I asked him—do I look bored?”
Lady Pomfret laughed, partly because it was pleasant to reflect that her hand had not lost its cunning.
“I have read somewhere, my dear, that you are an accomplished amateur actress. We have never entertained a visitor so easily. Indeed, you have entertained—us! At least, we might have invited some of our neighbours to meet so agreeable a guest.”