Lady Grace let that question answer itself—she took the case up further on. “What I can’t make out is why this should so suit her!”
“And what I can’t!” said Lady Sandgate without gross honesty and turning away after having watched the girl a moment. She nevertheless presently faced her again to follow this speculation up. “Do you like him enough to risk the chance of Kitty’s being for once right?”
Lady Grace gave it a thought—with which she moved away. “I don’t know how much I like him!”
“Nor how little!” cried her friend, who evidently found amusement in the tone of it. “And you’re not disposed to take the time to find out? He’s at least better than the others.”
“The ‘others’?”—Lady Grace was blank for them.
“The others of his set.”
“Oh, his set! That wouldn’t be difficult—by what I imagine of some of them. But he means well enough,” the girl added; “he’s very charming and does me great honour.”
It determined in her companion, about to leave her, another brief arrest. “Then may I tell your father?”
This in turn brought about in Lady Grace an immediate drop of the subject. “Tell my father, please, that I’m expecting Mr. Crimble; of whom I’ve spoken to him even if he doesn’t remember, and who bicycles this afternoon ten miles over from where he’s staying—with some people we don’t know—to look at the pictures, about which he’s awfully keen.”
Lady Sandgate took it in. “Ah, like Mr. Bender?”