"Plates, knives, and forks," said the heiress.
"—and flat irons," I concluded; playing involuntarily with the blob of lead which still hung at my watch-chain.
Polly had finished her performance, and was now standing near us. She understood the allusion, and laughed.
"Do you know what they're talking about?" asked Sir Lionel, going up to her. I sat down by the heiress.
"Were you ever at Oakford?" she asked, turning her grey eyes on me. She spoke almost abruptly, and with a touch of imperiousness that suddenly recalled to me where I had seen those eyes before.
"Certainly," said I, "and at the tinsmith's."
"What were you doing there?" she asked, and after all these years there was no mistaking the accent and gesture of the little lady of the grey beaver. Before she had well begun her apology for the question, I had answered it,
"Buying a flat iron for a farthing."
"Well, you've gone it hard to-night, old fellow," said Damer, as we drove away from the Towers. "You and Miss Chislett will be county talk for six months to come."