'
'What's the name of that woman,' Aylmer said good-naturedly, 'that Irish
woman, wife of one of the Cabinet Ministers, who came to the hospital at
Boulogne and wanted to have lessons?'
'Lady Conroy,' Dulcie answered.
'Yes, Lady Conroy. Supposing that she needed a secretary or companion,
would you dislike that?'
'Oh, no, I should like it very much.'
'Right. I'll get Mrs Ottley to speak to her about it. She said she was
coming to London, didn't she?'
'Yes. I got to know her fairly well,' said Dulcie. 'She's very
charming.'
'She's celebrated for her bad memory,' Aylmer said, with a smile.
'She declares she forgets her own name sometimes. Once she got into a
taxi and told the man to drive home. When he asked where that was, she
said it was his business to know. She had forgotten her address.'
They both laughed.
'I'll go tomorrow,' said Dulcie, 'and see my stepmother, if you don't
want me in the afternoon. Or, perhaps, the day you go for a drive would
be better.'
'Tell me, Miss Clay, aren't you happy at home?'
'Oh, it isn't that. They don't want me. I'm in the way. You see, they've
got used to my being out of the house.
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