“How did you know I refused him? Ah, I remember, you were sitting in the tea-room. You must have heard all we said.”
“Every syllable.”
“How flattering to the lady who was talking to you!”
“Dear Miss Green! Oh, she would not mind. She is so pleased with her own conversation that it does not matter whether people listen or not. She is a lady who shakes hands with herself every morning, and says, ‘My dear soul, you are really the cleverest, wittiest, brightest creature I know—not exactly beautiful, but infinitely charming,’ and in that humour she comes smiling down to breakfast, and lets us all see what poor creatures she thinks us.”
“I find you can be ill-natured, Mr. Vansittart. You are not like Lady Hartley, who has always a kind word to say of every one.”
“That is my sister’s little way. She pays most of her debts with kind words.”
“Ah, but she has given us more than words. She asks us to her delightful summer parties, and seems always glad to see us.”
“She is very lucky to have such young ladies at her parties. What would a garden-party be if there were not faces in the crowd worth following and asking questions about? But what of Mr. Sefton? I am interested in Mr. Sefton.”
“Why?” she asked, with innocent wonder.
“Oh, for various reasons. My father and his father were once friends. And then he is a landowner, a great man in these parts, and one always wants to know about such people.”