“Yes, Madame, I do—Sir Charles and his wife. I have not had the pleasure of meeting the small ones yet.”
“Oh—yes—I suppose you diplomatic-staff people all know each other, more or less, whether you care to or not.”
“We are apt to meet.”
“And I daresay you know every one in Washington now,” Julia remarked, rather purringly. She was proud of the place her once cold-shouldered protége had gained in the capital’s society that she herself rather scorned.
“I know a good many.” And this time Dr. Ray thought that there was nothing forced in the indifference of his tone.
“Do you like them—the Snows?” Miss Julia questioned again. It was her habit, and Sên’s delight, that she always questioned him as she liked.
“Very much,” he told her cordially.
“I like him,” Miss Townsend said, with no uncertain emphasis on the pronoun.
Sên King-lo sprang to the defense of an absent woman on whose face he but now had seen maternity’s beautiful blazon. “I like Lady Snow, Madame,” he remarked. “I am sure there is a great deal more in her than the chic prettiness that one sees and the gay banter one hears.”
“Do you?” From any one else the slight but patrician sniff would have sounded a rudeness. “I,” she continued, “know that there is very much more in Ivy Gilbert than shows on the surface. I am very fond of Ivy. I wish she had a gayer time. Girls should be gay. You liked Ivy, Elenore, didn’t you?”