“You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. I said to myself at once, ‘Either this is a coincidence or the caper sauce. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. She had never even brought a friend home in her time at the Becks, let alone been asked on dates. When she came to school on Friday, she almost tripped twice going up the stairs. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. .
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