Mrs Glover, putting up her glasses, surveyed Lady Griswold through them quizzically.
"Earned him? You have earned him, over and over again, a hundred thousand times, my dear."
Lady Griswold positively blushed with pleasure.
"Do you really think so? Do you really think that he will think so too? To look at me you would not think I was romantic, but I suppose I am."
"If there is a more romantic creature at present existing in the world I should like to meet her, or rather, I am almost tempted to say I shouldn't. Are you sure that after all your romance will end well?"
"Sure?" Lady Griswold seemed surprised. "How do you mean?"
"Are you sure that this Mr Ferguson of yours will adequately reward you for your eighteen years of--what shall I say?--servitude or waiting?"
Lady Griswold dropped her eyes in that girlish way she had. Her fingers trifled with a fold in the skirt of her dress.
"You do not know him."
"I fancied that I did. I assure you I hear enough of him from Mr Glover. Mr Glover seems to think that some fine day Mr Ferguson is going to save the country."