"You've heard me mention the name. That's how it's pronounced," explained Lady Hartley. "His place isn't far from here."
"You don't say! The way these British titles are pronounced is enough to make you doubt your own eyesight. I didn't know. But if he's a friend of yours that'll likely make it all the easier."
"Lord Chilminster!" Lady Hartley spoke in an awed tone.
She felt it would be useless to make Mrs. Urmy understand the enormity of her offence against good taste, and presently her astonishment gave way to amusement.
"Lavinia," she rippled, "as a matchmaker you take the cake! I don't believe——" She paused, listening. "Hush! Here's Jeannette!"
Miss Jeannette Urmy came in through the open French window. She was dressed in a natty little cotton frock, looked fresh and chic, and only pleasantly American. Perhaps she inherited her good looks and refined tastes from "popper" Urmy, deceased, in which case that gentleman must have committed one serious error of taste and judgment when he selected Jeannette's mother for his better half.
"My! You're late, Jeannette!" observed Mrs. Urmy, shooting a quick glance at Lady Hartley.
At the same moment, both ladies, by common consent, sauntered toward the door. They knew Jeannette's temperament. A crisis, such as the announcement in the Morning Post was sure to evoke, was one at which they were not anxious to assist.
"Oh, I'm ahead of time," answered Jeannette. "I've been up since six looking for eggs."
"Eggs?" echoed Lady Hartley.