“Yes, but look at that affair with the policeman in London. Everybody in the county is talking about it.”
“Young blood!” sighed George. “Young blood! Of course, Percy is wild.”
“He must have been intoxicated.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” said George.
Miss Plummer glanced across the table.
“Do look at Edwin!”
“Which is Edwin?”
“My brother, I mean. Look at the way he keeps staring at Maud. Edwin’s awfully in love with Maud,” she rattled on with engaging frankness. “At least, he thinks he is. He’s been in love with a different girl every season since I came out. And now that Reggie Byng has gone and married Alice Faraday, he thinks he has a chance. You heard about that, I suppose?”
“Yes, I did hear something about it.”
“Of course, Edwin’s wasting his time, really. I happen to know”–Miss Plummer sank her voice to a whisper–“I happen to know that Maud’s awfully in love with some man she met in Wales last year, but the family won’t hear of it.”
“Families are like that,” agreed George.
“Nobody knows who he is, but everybody in the county knows all about it. Those things get about, you know. Of course, it’s out of the question. Maud will have to marry somebody awfully rich or with a title. Her family’s one of the oldest in England, you know.”
“So I understand.”
“It isn’t as if she were the daughter of Lord Peebles, somebody like that.”
“Why Lord Peebles?”
“Well, what I mean to say is,” said Miss Plummer, with a silvery echo of Reggie Byng, “he made his money in whisky.”
“That’s better than spending it that way,” argued George.
Miss Plummer looked puzzled. “I see what you mean,” she said a little vaguely. “Lord Marshmoreton is so different.”
“Haughty nobleman stuff, eh?”
“Yes.”
“So you think this mysterious man in Wales hasn’t a chance?”
“Not unless he and Maud elope like Reggie Byng and Alice. Wasn’t that exciting? Who would ever have suspected Reggie had the dash to do a thing like that? Lord Marshmoreton’s new secretary is very pretty, don’t you think?”
“Which is she?”
“The girl in black with the golden hair.”
“Is she Lord Marshmoreton’s secretary?”
“Yes. She’s an American girl. I think she’s much nicer than Alice Faraday. I was talking to her before dinner. Her name is Dore. Her father was a captain in the American army, who died without leaving her a penny. He was the younger son of a very distinguished family, but his family disowned him because he married against their wishes.”
“Something ought to be done to stop these families,” said George. “They’re always up to something.”
“So Miss Dore had to go out and earn her own living. It must have been awful for her, mustn’t it, having to give up society.”
“Did she give up society?”
“Oh, yes. She used to go everywhere in New York before her father died. I think American girls are wonderful. They have so much enterprise.”
George at the moment was thinking that it was in imagination that they excelled.
“I wish I could go out and earn my living,” said Miss Plummer. “But the family won’t dream of it.”
“The family again!” said George sympathetically. “They’re a perfect curse.”
“I want to go on the stage. Are you fond of the theatre?”
“Fairly.”
“I love it. Have you seen Hubert Broadleigh in ”Twas Once in Spring’?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t.”
“He’s wonderful. Have you see Cynthia Dane in ‘A Woman’s No’?”
“I missed that one too.”
“Perhaps you prefer musical pieces? I saw an awfully good musical comedy before I left town. It’s called ‘Follow the Girl’. It’s at the Regal Theatre. Have you see it?”
“I wrote it.”
“You–what!”
“That is to say, I wrote the music.”
“But the music’s lovely,” gasped little Miss Plummer, as if the fact made his claim ridiculous. “I’ve been humming it ever since.”
“I can’t help that. I still stick to it that I wrote it.”
“You aren’t George Bevan!”
“I am!”
“But–” Miss Plummer’s voice almost failed here–“But I’ve been dancing to your music for years! I’ve got about fifty of your records on the Victrola at home.”
George blushed. However successful a man may be he can never get used to Fame at close range.