Superfluous question to ask of Arminius Wingrove, we can tell you that. Are you not aware that the young person who played Cinderella had already captured all that was best in the life of the metropolis? What a question to ask Arminius Wingrove who knew every man, woman, and infant phenomenon worthy of regard, from Anna Maria, Duchess Dowager of Bayswater, to the ticket inspector on the Vauxhall trams.
“Know her? Of course I know her. And it was I who chose her first long-clothes for her.” At least the air of bland surprise of Arminius Wingrove was open to that interpretation, although, of course, modesty would have restrained him from saying anything of the kind. “Everybody knows her—now.”
“Didn’t know she was famous,” said the heir to the barony, limp as rags.
Arminius measured him in his naïveté, though not with the naked eye.
“Absolute nailer,” said the heir to the barony.
All vieux jeu to Arminius W. Took out his watch—inset with jewels of rare variety—a present from—never mind who, ye froward journalists.
“Ritz at eight. Polly will curse if kept waiting for her meals.”
“Absolute nailer,” said the vain young man. “Would like to meet her awfully if you can manage it for me.”
Arminius Wingrove pondered some.
“Why—ye-es,” said that great man.