"So you have. I'd forgotten that. Of course, if you will live in a place like that, you can't expect to be familiar with the wonders of civilisation. Ever see the Daily Reflexion?"
"Oh, yes, we get that in Ireland all right!"
"Do you, indeed! Well, praise God from Whom all blessings flow. If you buy a copy of to-morrow's Daily Reflexion, you'll probably see her photograph in it, or a paragraph about her. Roger says people pay to have themselves mentioned once a month in that sort of rag!"
"What's her husband like?" Henry asked.
"God made him, but nobody knows why. I believe chorus girls call him 'Chummie.' That's his purpose in life. I say, Henry, there's a ripping sketch of a new kind of engine in this paper. I wish you'd let me explain it to you...."
"Who is her husband?" said Henry.
"Who is who's husband?"
"Lady Cecily Jayne's!..."
"Lordy God, man, you're not talking about her still, are you? Her husband is ... let me see ... oh, yes, he's Lord Jasper Jayne. His name sounds like the hero of a servant's novelette, but he doesn't look like that. He looks like a chucker-out in a back-street pub. His father's the Marquis of Dulbury. He's the second son. The eldest is sillier, but it's all been hushed up. Anything else you want to know?"
"I'm just interested, that's all!"