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--?"