“Don't forget to come and have a little talk with me later. I have n't seen you since dear Norma's engagement.”
To dear Norma she was equally urbane, called her a lucky girl, and presented her as a bride-elect to the duke, who murmured a vague formula of congratulation which he had remembered from early terrestrial days.
“I can't tell you how proud I am of you, Norma!” said Mrs. Hardacre, with a lump in her throat, as they passed on. “The dear duchess! I wonder if I am sufficiently grateful to Providence.”
Norma, although in her heart pleased by the manifestation of ducal favour, could not let the opportunity for a taunt pass by.
“You can refer to it in your prayers, mother: 'O God, I thank Thee for shedding Her Grace upon me.' Won't that do, father.”
“Eh, what?” asked Mr. Hardacre, very red in the face, trailing half a pace behind his wife and daughter.
Norma repeated her form of Thanksgiving.
“Ha! ha! Devilish good! Tell that in the club,” he said in high good-humour. His wife's glance suddenly withered him.
“I don't approve of blasphemy,” she said.
“Towards whom, mother dear?” asked Norma, suavely. “The Almighty or the duchess?”