“The duchess . . .?” interrogated Mrs. Roden. To Mrs. Roden a duchess was not quite as other women.
“The Duchess of Mowbray. I thought you knew that I had been working at Harborough Castle.”
“She was a D’Arcy,” murmured Mrs. Roden. “I never speak ill of others or repeat ill-natured gossip. Still . . .”
“Please make an exception in this case, my dear Mary,” said Wilverley. Cicely could see that his eyes twinkled. Certainly this rather stodgy man had an elementary sense of humour. But you had to dig deep to find it.
Mrs. Roden said solemnly:
“Her mother was a Dollope. We all know that the Dollopes are . . . well . . . Dollopes . . .!”
“They would be with such a name,” Tiddy observed.
Mrs. Roden continued trenchantly:
“Old Lord D’Arcy was quite impossible. One couldn’t repeat what he did or said.”
“Tell me all about him afterwards,” said Wilverley.