“How extraordinary! I believe she does.”
Leo Ulford’s laugh was triumphant and prolonged.
“That’s where they breed marmars!” he exclaimed, when he was able to speak. “Women are stunning.”
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” said Lady Holme, preserving a quiet air of pupilage. “But perhaps it’s better I shouldn’t. Anyhow, I am quite sure Miss Schley’s mother will be worthy of her daughter.”
“You may bet your bottom dollar on that. She’ll be what they call ‘a sootable marmar.’ I must get my wife to shoot a card on her.”
“I hope you’ll introduce me to Mrs. Ulford. I should like to know her.”
“Yours isn’t the voice to talk down a trumpet,” said Leo Ulford, with a sudden air of surliness.
“I should like to know her now I know you and your father.”
At the mention of his father Leo Ulford’s discontented expression increased.
“My father’s a rotter,” he said. “Never cared for anything. No shot to speak of. He can sit on a horse all right. Had to, in South America and Morocco and all those places. But he never really cared about it, I don’t believe. Why, he’d rather look at a picture than a thoroughbred any day!”