“It appears so.”
“She should be a most excellent advertisement.”
Parker Steel fingered his chin, and looked meditatively at the carpet. A self-satisfied and half-cynical smile hovered about the angles of his clean-cut mouth.
“A year ago, Betty,” he remarked, “Lady Sophia pertained to Catherine Murchison, and showed us the cold shoulder. Well, we have changed all that.”
“We?”
“Well, say the workings of the ‘spirit,’ or the infirmities of the flesh.”
Mrs. Betty held Mignon against her cheek and laughed.
“What a dear, soft, fluffy thing it is!”
“Set a cat to catch a cat, eh? I wonder what our friend Murchison is doing?”
“Murchison! I never trouble to think.”