"Do you know, that's really awfully good. He does put
it on a bit, doesn't he?"
"If you let Christian go on," Peyton added, "he'll talk about the
sacred ties of Anglo-Saxon blood and tradition, with the English and
American exchange ruling the world. Gilbert, how did your artillery
company get along with the Londoners?"
"All right, if we were near a brick yard."
Claire rose abruptly, and they drifted out to a reception room opening,
with a wide arch, beyond the hall. Gilbert Bromhead's wife hesitated;
then, confidentially, she told Lee that she adored to sit on stairs.
"Very well," he assented; "these of the Morrises' are splendid." He was
a step below her, and her knees and his shoulder settled together.
"I like older men so much," she admitted what she had already so
adroitly conveyed; "patches of grey above the ears are so
distinguished."
"Older than what?"
Apparently forgetful that her gesture included Gilbert Bromhead she
indicated the rooms that now held the others. "Young men are so head
over heels," she particularized; "they are always disarranging things."
She laughed, a delectable sound. "I oughtn't to have said that, and I
wouldn't--to them. I might almost tell you the story about the man in
the department store and the drawers." Their contact was more
pronounced. "Isn't that English girl extraordinary? I didn't believe
for a minute that was her own color till I was close to it.
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