As she spoke, she caressed with light finger-tips a bowl of sun-gold narcissus—Mallory habitually kept the Edenhall flat supplied with flowers.
"We're frankly grateful to you for introducing him," replied Penelope.
"He's been an absolute godsend all through this hateful long winter."
"What's so perfect about him," added Nan, "is that he never jars on one. He's never Philistine."
"In fact," interpolated Penelope somewhat ruefully, "he's so far from being Philistine that he has a dreadful faculty for making me feel deplorably commonplace."
Kitty gurgled.
"What rubbish! I'm sure nothing in the world would make Peter more unhappy than to think he affected anyone like that. He's the least assuming and most tender-hearted soul I know. You may be common-sense, Penny dear, but you're not in the least commonplace. They're two quite different things."
Nan lit a cigarette with deliberation.
"I'll tell you what is remarkable about Peter Mallory," she said.
"He's sahib—right through. Very few men are."
Kitty, always tolerant and charitable, patted her arm deprecatingly.
"Oh, come, Nan, that's rather sweeping. There are heaps of nice men in the world."