“Why not?”
“It sounds bally vulgar. I should have thought it meant your valet.”
At this Mrs. Castillyon laughed as she spoke at the top of her voice, so that people, to Reggie’s confusion, again turned round.
“How prim you are! Is it your mamma’s bringing-up, Reggie? She’s rather an old frump, you know.”
“Thanks!”
“But I intend to ask her down to Jeyston for Christmas. We’re going to have a house-party, and I mean to get Miss Ley and Dr. Hurrell. I don’t like him much, but Miss Ley won’t come without him. Pity she’s not younger, isn’t it? They could talk philosophy to more purpose then. They say she has a passion for young men; I wonder what she does with them. D’you think she was very gay in her youth?”
“She’s a regular ripper, I know that,” answered Reggie, remembering the frequent tips which in his school-days the generous creature had slipped into his hand.
“I’m sure there was something,” expostulated Mrs. Castillyon, “or she wouldn’t have lived so long in Italy.”
“My mother thinks her about the straightest woman she’s ever known.”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep thrusting your mother down my throat, Reggie. It’s bad enough having to put up with Paul’s, without getting yours as well. I suppose I shall have to ask that old cat for Christmas: she’s awful, as rich as they make ’em, and she’ll get on with your mother first-rate. Let’s go; I’m sick of this hole.”