"Hello, Free!" she greeted me over the dangling filthy weed that clung to her lip like—like Richard's! "Hello, old thing! Sit down. Smoke? Oh, of course not! I've been reading about this beastly war we are going to have. Won't it be a bore?"
"Do you really think England and Germany will break?" I said. It was what every one said in those days, a sort of formula of greeting like "Good morning" or "How do you do" without meaning it too seriously, don't you know? And then more vital matters would be taken up.
"Oh, I don't really suppose so!" she said. "I'm glad to see you, my dear. Did that charming Mr. Pegg enjoy my little party?"
"I am sure he did!" I replied, stiffening a little. Her tone was altogether too intimate. "So did I, and so did Alicia. It is about her that I have come principally, Abby."
"You mean about the duke?" inquired Abby, with surprising astuteness. "I noticed they were pretty thick."
"I assume you would not have invited the young man unless you knew him to be desirable?" I said earnestly.
"I didn't invite him!" said my sprightly relative. "He called me up in the afternoon and insisted upon coming! I would never have dared to take the responsibility of inviting Sandro to meet any woman—but he simply said that he knew them and knew they were coming, and so was he."
"But my dear!" I exclaimed. "He is simply a chance—a very chance acquaintance with us. You must know him well to call him by his first name. Tell me all about him!"
"I do know him well!" she admitted, lighting a new cigarette as I started a new row on my sock. "Everybody who is anybody knows Sandro. He plays about with the very best people. I've known him for ten years. But I know absolutely nothing about him. He has a good figure and a charming smile and never borrows money, though he gambles heavily at periods. And that's all I can say."
"But my dear!" I protested. "Who are his family? Surely you know that?"