It made her stare a moment longer, then laugh almost to extravagance. “There’s no one like you!”
“ Like me? ”—he only wanted to understand.
“ Like all of you together—like all of us: Woollett, Milrose and their products. We’re abysmal—but may we never be less so! Mr. Newsome,” she continued, “meanwhile takes Miss Pocock—?”
“ Precisely—to the Français: to see what you took Waymarsh and me to, a family-bill.”
“ Ah then may Mr. Chad enjoy it as I did!” But she saw so much in things. “Do they spend their evenings, your young people, like that, alone together?”
“ Well, they’re young people—but they’re old friends.”
“ I see, I see. And do they dine—for a difference—at Brébant’s?”
“ Oh where they dine is their secret too. But I’ve my idea that
