Our incident had produced a certain awkwardness, and while I was thinking of what next to say she exclaimed irrelevantly: "Don't you know?
He'll be Lord Considine." At that moment the youth marked for this high destiny turned round, and she spoke to my mother.

"I'll introduce him to you--he's awfully nice." She beckoned and invited him with her parasol; the movement struck me as taking everything for granted.

I had heard of Lord Considine and if I had not been able to place Lord Iffield it was because I didn't know the name of his eldest son.

The young man took no notice of Miss Saunt's appeal; he only stared a moment and then on her repeating it quietly turned his back.

She was an odd creature: she didn't blush at this; she only said to my mother apologetically, but with the frankest sweetest amusement, "You don't mind, do you?
He's a monster of shyness!" It was as if she were sorry for every one--for Lord Iffield, the victim of a complaint so painful, and for my mother, the subject of a certain slight.