The duchess, as a rule, was amused by his slang. It seemed vulgar to her now.
“Heavens,” she drawled, “you are really too dreadful!”
He didn’t seem to hear her.
“She’s turned out a perfect wonder, hasn’t she? A world-beater! Why, everybody tells me there isn’t another like her in her specialty. Of course I have heard of Letty Lane, but I haven’t been out to things since I went in mourning, and I’ve never run up against her.”
“Really,” drawled the duchess again, “now that you have ‘run up against her’ what are you going to do with her? Marry her?”
His honest stare was the greatest relief she had ever experienced. He repeated bluntly: “Marry her? Why the dickens should I?”
“You seem absorbed in her.”
He agreed with her. “I am. I think she’s great, don’t you?”
“Hardly.”
But the cold voice of the duchess did not chill him. “Simply great,” he continued, “and I’m sorry for her down to the ground. That is what is the matter. Didn’t you notice her when she came into the Carlton that night?”