Dolly Dialogues Part 24

Mrs. Hilary advanced, holding out a letter.

"You may as well post this for me," said she. "Oh, and would you like to come to lunch tomorrow?"

"To meet the Paragon?"

"No. She'll be there, of course; but you see it's Sat.u.r.day, and Hilary will be here; and I thought you might take him off somewhere and leave Phyllis and me to have a quiet talk with her."

"That won't amuse her much," I ventured to remark.

"She's not coming to be amused," said Mrs. Hilary severely.

"All right; I'll come," said I, taking my hat.

"Here's the note for Miss Bannerman," said Mrs. Hilary.

That sort of thing never surprises me. I looked at the letter and read "Miss M. E. Bannerman." "M. E." stood for "Maud Elizabeth." I put my hat back on the table.

"What sort of a looking person is this Miss Bannerman?" I asked.

"Oh, a spare, upright woman--hair a little gray, and--I don't know how to describe it--her face looks a little weather-beaten. She wears gla.s.ses."

"Thank you," said I. "And what sort of a looking person am I?"

Mrs. Hilary looked scornful. Miss Phyllis opened her eyes.

"How old do I look, Miss Phyllis?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said uncomfortably.

"Guess," said I sternly.

"F-forty-three--oh, or forty-two?" she asked, with a timid upward glance.

"When you've done your nonsense--" began Mrs. Hilary; but I laid a hand on her arm.

"Should you call me fat?" I asked.

"Oh, no; not fat," said Mrs. Hilary, with a smile, which she strove to render rea.s.suring.

"I am undoubtedly bald," I observed.

"You're certainly bald," said Mrs. Hilary, with regretful candor.

I took my hat and remarked: "A man has a right to think of himself, but I am not thinking mainly of myself. I shall not come to lunch."

"You said you would," cried Mrs. Hilary indignantly.

I poised the letter in my hand, reading again "Miss M(aud) E(lizabeth) Bannerman." Miss Phyllis looked at me curiously, Mrs. Hilary impatiently.

"Who knows," said I, "that I may not be a Romance--a Vanished Dream--a Green Memory--an Oasis? A person who has the fortune to be an Oasis, Miss Phyllis, should be very careful. I will not come to lunch."

"Do you mean that you used to know Miss Bannerman?" asked Mrs. Hilary in her pleasant prosaic way.

It was a sin seventeen years old; it would hardly count against the blameless Miss Bannerman now. "You may tell her when I'm gone," said I to Miss Phyllis.

Miss Phyllis whispered in Mrs. Hilary's ear.

"Another?" cried Mrs. Hilary, aghast.

"It was the very first," said I, defending myself.

Mrs. Hilary began to laugh. I smoothed my hat.

"Tell her," said I, "that I remembered her very well."

"I shall do no such thing," said Mrs. Hilary.

"And tell her," I continued, "that I am still handsome."

"I shan't say a word about you," said Mrs. Hilary.

"Ah, well, that will be better still," said I.

"She'll have forgotten your very name," remarked Mrs. Hilary.

I opened the door, but a thought struck me. I turned round and observed:

"I dare say her hair's just as soft as ever. Still--I'll lunch some other day."

A VERY FINE DAY

"I see nothing whatever to laugh at," said Mrs. Hilary coldly, when I had finished.

"I did not ask you to laugh," I observed mildly. "I mentioned it merely as a typical case."

"It's not typical," she said, and took up her embroidery. But a moment later she added:

"Poor boy! I'm not surprised."

"I'm not surprised either," I remarked. "It is, however, extremely deplorable."

"It's your own fault. Why did you introduce him?"

"A book," I observed, "might be written on the Injustice of the Just.

How could I suppose that he would--?"