You'll have plenty of opportunity for seeing Mrs.Hartly, I expect.

She's tenth on your list.

Good-day, Hartly." Hartly's hand was wavering between his moustache and his watch pocket.
"Good-day," he said sulkily.
"You must come and see me again, Mr.Granger," Mrs.Hartly said from the door.

"Come to the Buckingham and see how we're getting on with your friend's play.

We must have a good long talk if you're to get my local colour, as Mr.Fox calls it." "To gild refined gold; to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet--" I quoted banally.
"That's it," she said, with a tender smile.