“But, my dear Mrs. Steel—”
“I agree wholly with my husband.” And Mrs. Betty stretched out a white hand, and stroked the ball of fluff in Lady Sophia’s lap. “Choose which you like. They can leave the mother in a week or two.”
Lady Gillingham’s plebeian face beamed upon Mrs. Betty.
“This is really too generous.”
“Why, not at all,” and her vivacity was compelling.
“Then I may choose this one?”
“With pleasure.”
“Isn’t it a pet?”
Mignon, purring on Mrs. Betty’s lap, failed to realize in the least how valuable a social asset she had proved. There was a rustling of skirts, a shaking of hands, as the room began to empty of its silks and laces. Lady Sophia struggled up with a fat sigh from the depths of her chair, stroked Mignon’s ears, and held out a very gracious hand to Mrs. Steel.
“Can you dine with us on Monday?”