"Oh, your earlship," she remarked, "this, by the way, is Mr. Laffie
Brice-Ashton. I'd like to present him to you, but I'm afraid your Right
Honorableness wouldn't take him even as a gift if you knew him as well
as I do."
"Oh, now, Do—Miss Gon-tray!" protested Ashton.
The Englishman bowed formally and adjusted his monocle, oblivious of the hand that Ashton had stripped of its glove.
"Your—your grace—I should say, your lordship," stammered Ashton, hastily dropping his hand, "I'm extremely delighted—honored, I mean—at the unexpected pleasure of meeting your lordship."
"Ah, really?" murmured his lordship.
"Mr. Brice-Ashton's father is one of our most eminent financiers," interposed Mrs. Gantry.
"Ah, really? What luck!" politely exclaimed the Englishman. He stepped past the son of the eminent financier, to address Genevieve in an impulsive, boyish tone, "I say, Miss Leslie, hop up on a suitcase between Tom and me. You'll see over their heads."
"Hold on," said Blake, who was staring towards the outer door. "He's coming now."
"Where? Are you sure, Tom?" asked Genevieve, here eyes radiant.
"Sure, I'm sure," said Blake. "Met your father once. That was enough for me."