Mrs Ford turned to her effusively.
'Oh, Cynthia, dear, I haven't thanked you.'
'No,' interpolated the girl dryly.
'You're a wonder, darling. You really are. I've been repeating that ever since I got your telegram from Eastnor.' She broke off. 'Ogden, come near me, my little son.'
He lurched towards her sullenly.
'Don't muss a fellow now,' he stipulated, before allowing himself to be enfolded in the outstretched arms.
'Tell me, Cynthia,' resumed Mrs Ford, 'how did you do it? I was telling Lord Mountry that I hoped I might see my Ogden again soon, but I never really hoped. It seemed too impossible that you should succeed.'
'This Lord Mountry of yours,' said Cynthia. 'How did you get to know him? Why have I not seen him before?'
'I met him in Paris in the fall. He has been out of London for a long time, looking after his father, who was ill.'
'I see.'