Lady Jones smiled affably back.
“How can you be satisfied if you are poor?” she said. “Nobody could.”
“Poverty isn’t always a question of money,” said Elizabeth.
“Ha-ha!” laughed Lady Jones. “I see your daughter’s young yet, Mr. Atterton. She hasn’t learned that everything’s a question of money. You and me knows that.”
“We does,” agreed Mr. Atterton, involuntarily following the lady’s lead; then he recollected himself, gave a quick glance round, and added, in some haste, “Of course, money is a power.”
“My aunt is there, under those trees,” said Andy, covering the retreat.
“Mrs. Dixon!” exclaimed Lady Jones, for some vague reason rather annoyed to find that lady even with her here too. “How did she get invited? Oh, came with you, Mr. Deane, of course.” And suddenly the county society round Gaythorpe seemed less select in her eyes, as she walked up to the bench in the shade where her friend and Miss Banks were sitting.
“Well—’ow are you, my dear?” she called across a space.
Mrs. Dixon jumped up, creaking in every whalebone, and, after a moment’s breathless pause, rustled forward with her most fashionable air of greeting—
“Charmed to meet you here, Lady Jones. How very fortunate—but how unforeseen!”