"He is a charming fellow, the Duke-charming-charming!" went on Sir Morton, unconscious of the complex workings of thought in his elderly daughter's acidulated brain! "And his great 'chum,' Lord Mawdenham, has also been staying with us—but they left Badsworth yesterday, I'm sorry to say. They travelled up to London with Lady Elizabeth Messing, who paid us a visit of two or three days—"
"Lady Elizabeth Messing!" echoed Maryllia, with a sudden ripple of laughter—"Dear me! Did you have her staying with you? How very nice of you! She is such a terror!"
Mr. Marius Longford stroked one of his pussy-cat whiskers thoughtfully, and put in his word.
"Lady Elizabeth spoke of you, Miss Vancourt, several times," he said. "In fact"—and he smiled—"she had a good deal to say! She remembers meeting you in Paris, and—if I mistake not—also at Homburg on one occasion. She was surprised to hear you were coming to live in this dull country place—she said it would never suit you at all—you were altogether too brilliant—er—" he bowed—" and er- -charming!" This complimentary phrase was spoken with the air of a beneficent paterfamilias giving a child a bon-bon.
Maryllia's glance swept over him carelessly.
"Much obliged to her, I'm sure!" she said—"I can quite imagine the anxiety she felt concerning me! So good of her! Is she a great friend of yours?"
Mr. Longford looked slightly disconcerted.
"Well, no," he replied—"I have only during these last few days— through Sir Morton—had the pleasure of her acquaintance—"
"Mr. Longford is not a 'society' man!" said Sir Morton, with a chuckle—"He lives on the heights of Parnassus—and looks down with scorn on the browsing sheep in the valleys below! He is a great author!"
"Indeed!" and Maryllia raised her delicately arched eyebrows with a faint movement of polite surprise—"But all authors are great nowadays, aren't they? There are no little ones left."