“She’s not the sort that does. She’s the sort that’s always kicking over the traces and keeping it dark. I know ‘em.”
“I think you’re rather unkind. Miss Schley’s mother arrives to-morrow.”
Leo Ulford put up his hands to his baby moustache and shook with laughter.
“That’s the only thing she wanted to set her up in business,” he ejaculated. “A marmar. I do love those Americans!”
“But you speak as if Mrs. Schley were a stage property!”
“I’ll bet she is. Wait till you see her. Why, it’s a regular profession in the States, being a marmar. I tell you what—”
He leaned forward and fixed his blue eyes on Lady Holme, with an air of profound acuteness.
“Are you going to see her?”
“Mrs. Schley? I daresay.”
“Well, you remember what I tell you. She’ll be as dry as a dog-biscuit, wear a cap and spectacles with gold rims, and say nothing but ‘Oh, my, yes indeed!’ to everything that’s said to her. Does she come from Susanville?”