“I’m going to trust you,” Lady Enid went on, emphasising the two pronouns.
“Many thanks,” said the Prophet, unoriginally.
She was sitting on a square piece of furniture which the Marquis of Glome called an “Aberdeen lean-to.” She now spread herself out upon it in the easy attitude of one who is about to converse intimately for some centuries, and proceeded.
“I daresay you know, Mr. Vivian, that people always call me a very sensible sort of girl.”
The Prophet remembered his grandmother’s remark about Lady Enid.
“I know they do,” he assented, trying not to think of five o’clock.
“What do they mean by that, Mr. Vivian?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I say what do they mean by a sensible sort of girl?”
“Why, I suppose—”