"We needn't worry any more about the compact, Barbara, now I know about it," Ralph said, as they walked together. Snow had fallen. The Cotswolds were all white, netted with the purplish brown filigree-work of the trees. Their feet went crunching through the furry crystals of the snow.
"No. That's one good thing she's done."
"Was it very funny, your scrap?"
"It seemed funnier at the time than it did afterwards. It was really rather beastly. Fanny didn't like it."
"You could hardly expect her to. There's a limit to Fanny's sense of humour."
"There's a limit to mine. Fanny was right. I had to fight her with the filthiest weapons. I had to tell her she couldn't do anything because he was Waddington of Wyck, and she was up against all his ancestors. I had to drag in his ancestors."
"That was bad."
"I know it was. It's what Fanny hated. And no wonder. She made me feel such a miserable little snob, Ralph."
"Fanny did?"
"Yes. She couldn't have done it. She'd have let her do her damnedest."