She knitted her pretty brows: "I don't quite know. You see you're a British peer—which is really a very wonderful thing——"
"Oh, come," he said: "it really is rather a wonderful thing, but you don't believe it."
"Yes, I do. I stand in awe of you. When you come into the room I seem to hear trumpets sounding in the far distance——"
"My boots squeak——"
"Nonsense! I do hear a sort of a fairy fanfare playing 'Hail to the Belted Earl!'"
"I wear braces——"
"How common of you to distort my meaning! I don't care, you may do as you like—dance break-downs and hammer the piano, but to me you will ever remain a British peer—poor but noble——"
"Wait until we hear from that Van Dyck! You can't call me poor then!"
She laughed, then, looking at him earnestly, involuntarily clasped her hands.
"Isn't it perfectly wonderful," she breathed with a happy, satisfied sigh.