“I should think that the legends of this countryside—”
“Or a legend, if it’s handier. I’ve never seen a genuine legend, Mr. Bannerlee. Lead me to it. Hasn’t my education been neglected?”
I uttered a faint denial.
“Oh, yes, it has,” she chortled. “For instance, I get my English all gummed up. But that’s your fault.”
“Of course.”
“Now don’t be sil. You don’t know what I mean. For instance. Have you noticed how all the books you English writers write about we Amurricans have us saying ‘I guess’ this and ‘I reckon’ that about every once or twice in so often? Now, over where I come from nobody talks that way so that you could notice it, but over here in your delightful little island we have to pull that kind of stuff once in a while or the natives wouldn’t know where we’re from. Savvy?”
“Oh, quite.”
She had perched on the back of a carved gilt couch with upholstery in rose Brocade de Lyons.
“And now how about getting busy on that saint proposition? One out of the Old Testament or anything. Warm puppies! won’t I have the kids at home goggle-eyed? I should snicker.”
“Saints in the Old Testament are few. And I’m afraid—”