” “But Hainault—was—a pal. . . ” “What?” He asked. In the first place, it will be damnably dull. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so. But the figure was evidently too intent on peering within the ballroom to pay any attention to what might be occurring outside. “I fail to see the joke,” Sir John said. . “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. Unless they remind him now and then not to.
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