“Oh, so am I. I have taken a suite of rooms for myself and maid, while I am looking after dear Isobel. But it will be a little bit dull. Are you dining in the general room?”
“I certainly shall—unless—” Farquhar looked towards Isobel.
Poor Isobel looked very distressed. “You are both such darlings,” she said, in her candid, impulsive way. “I should like to put you both up, to ask you to stay. But I shall be such poor company for you.”
They both understood. The bereaved girl wanted to be left alone with her dead, for that day at least. She welcomed their sympathy, but they could not mourn with her whole-hearted mourning.
Farquhar and Lady Mary drove back in the car to the “Queen’s.” Farquhar suggested tea. Lady Mary accepted the invitation willingly. There was something about this serious young barrister that attracted her.
Over the teacups they chatted.
“Tell me, are you going to be Lord Chancellor some day? You have plenty of time.”
It was Lady Mary who put the question. Farquhar caught the spirit of her gay humour.
“Oh, no, nothing so stupendous as that. In my wildest dreams, I have never aspired to be anything higher than Solicitor or Attorney-General. I shall probably end by being a police magistrate, and cultivate a reputation for saying smart things.”
“Oh, but I shall be quite disappointed in you if you don’t become Lord Chancellor,” persisted Lady Mary, in her most girlish vein. “How dreadfully ancient we shall both be when you reach that exalted position. And then, think of your wife, she will be the first female subject in the kingdom. The Archbishop of Canterbury’s wife doesn’t count at all, although the Archbishop goes before you. Isn’t it comical?”