“Yes! And she looked as rapt as if I had said the heavens had opened to you. I said if she ever came to Tevershall she was to come and see you.”

“Me! Whatever for! See me!”

“Why yes, Clifford. You can’t be so adored without making some slight return. Saint George of Cappadocia was nothing to you, in her eyes.”

“And do you think she’ll come?”

“Oh, she blushed! and looked quite beautiful for a moment, poor thing! Why don’t men marry the women who would really adore them?”

“The women start adoring too late. But did she say she’d come?”

“Oh!” Connie imitated the breathless Miss Bentley, “your Ladyship, if ever I should dare to presume!”

“Dare to presume! how absurd! But I hope to God she won’t turn up. And how was her tea?”