coat and knickerbockers, stared after her appreciatively. "A charming woman!" he said with warmth. "She tells me you had a bright day of it all the way up. We had a bit of a brush of snow, ourselves, the day we came up. Still, it's quite a jolly little motor climb. Pretty hills."
"Hills?" Ogle said. "Hills?"
"Yes," Sir William returned. "Pretty ones." Then he seemed to feel that decorum permitted him to revert to the more important subject. "A charming woman!" he said again. "A delightful woman, your mother!"
"What!" The playwright gazed at him, open-mouthed. "I beg your pardon. What did you say?"
Sir William smiled upon him almost fondly. "Charming. A most charming woman, your mother."
"Dear me!" Ogle said. "Madame Momoro isn't my mother."
"No? Ah—I understood"
"No, no!" the young man insisted. "Not at all, not at all!"
"No?" Sir William was surprised; but seemed to feel that he must yield to an indubitable authority.
