"I remember." Lady Cayley's face shone with the illumination of her memory. "So we did. Just after you were married?"
She paused discreetly. "You haven't brought Mrs. Majendie with you?"
"N—no—er—she isn't very well. She doesn't go out much at night."
"Indeed? I did hear, didn't I, that you had a little—" She paused, if anything, more discreetly than before.
"A little girl. Yes. That history is a year old now."
"Wallie!" cried Mrs. Hannay, "it's a year and three months. And a darling she is, too."
"I'm sure she is," said Sarah in the softest voice imaginable. There was another pause, the discreetest of them all. "Is she like Mr. Majendie?"
"No, she's like her mother." Mrs. Hannay was instantly transported with the blessed vision of Peggy. "She's got blue, blue eyes, Sarah; and the dearest little goldy ducks' tails curling over the nape of her neck."
Majendie's sad face brightened under praise of Peggy.
"Sweet," murmured Sarah. "I love them when they're like that." She saw how she could flatter him. If he loved to talk about the baby, she could talk about babies till all was blue. They talked for more than half an hour. It was the prettiest, most innocent conversation in which Sarah had ever taken part.