“Lucy Wymonde wants to bring George’s niece with her on Friday.”
“Niece!” the Marchioness exclaimed. “I did not know he had one.”
Then before the Marquis could reply she added,
“But of course! It must be Roland Monde’s daughter.”
The Marquis waited, knowing his mother was working it out in her mind and that, with her retentive memory, she was better than any Debrett’s Peerage or Who’s Who when it was a question of placing a member of someone’s family in the right category.
“Roland died last year when he was living abroad,” the Marchioness went on, “and his wife died several years ago. That means the girl is an orphan.”
“Lucy speaks as if she is going to live with them,” the Marquis commented.
His mother laughed.
“Poor Lucy! She will hate that. She had no partiality for girls.”
“I
