“He told me all about himself.”
“And you found that interesting?”
“Why not?”
“Well...” A frigid half-smile came and went on Bruce Carmyle's dark face. “My cousin has many excellent qualities, no doubt—he used to play football well, and I understand that he is a capable amateur pugilist—but I should not have supposed him entertaining. We find him a little dull.”
“I thought it was only royalty that called themselves 'we.'”
“I meant myself—and the rest of the family.”
The mention of the family was too much for Sally. She had to stop talking in order to allow her mind to clear itself of rude thoughts.
“Mr. Kemp was telling me about Mr. Scrymgeour,” she went on at length.
Bruce Carmyle stared for a moment at the yard or so of French bread which the waiter had placed on the table.
“Indeed?” he said. “He has an engaging lack of reticence.”