Part 11

“No, not lately.”

I caught sight of his face behind her back and I thought I saw a trace of puzzle--nothing more. He held out his hand.

“Well, so glad to have seen you, Miss Phaeton,” said he, “but I must run on. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Gay,” said she.

And, lifting his hat again, smiling again gayly, he was gone. For a moment or two I said nothing. Then I remarked:

“So that’s your friend Gay, is it? He’s not a bad-looking fellow.”

“Yes, that’s him,” said she, and, as she spoke, she sank back in her seat for a moment. I did not look at her face. Then she sat up straight again and took the whip.

“Want to stay any longer?” she asked.

“No,” said I.

The little groom sprang away, Rhino and Ready dashed ahead.

“Shall I drop you at the club?” she asked. “I’m goin’ home.”

“I’ll get out here,” said I.

We came to a stand again, and I got down.

“Goodbye,” I said.

She nodded at me, but said nothing. A second later the carriage was tearing down the road, and the little groom hanging on for dear life.

Of course, it’s all nonsense. She’s not the least suited to him; she’d make him miserable, and then be miserable herself. But it seems a little perverse, doesn’t it? In fact, twice at least between the courses at dinner I caught myself being sorry for her. It is, when you think of it, so remarkably perverse.

A MATTER OF DUTY

Lady Mickleham is back from her honeymoon. I mean young Lady Mickleham--Dolly Foster (well, of course I do. Fancy the Dowager on a honeymoon!) She signified the fact to me by ordering me to call on her at teatime; she had, she said, something which she wished to consult me about confidentially. I went.

“I didn’t know you were back,” I observed.

“Oh, we’ve been back a fortnight, but we went down to The Towers. They were all there, Mr. Carter.”

“All who?”

“All Archie’s people. The dowager said we must get really to know one another as soon as possible. I’m not sure I like really knowing people. It means that they say whatever they like to you, and don’t get up out of your favorite chair when you come in.”

“I agree,” said I, “that a soupcon of unfamiliarity is not amiss.”

“Of course it’s nice to be one of the family,” she continued.

“The cat is that,” said I. “I would not give a fig for it.”

“And the Dowager taught me the ways of the house.”

“Ah, she taught me the way out of it.”

“And showed me how to be most disagreeable to the servants.”