Part 32

“We might see somebody else we know.”

“Oh, somebody else be hanged! Who wants to see em?”

“I’m sure I don’t.” said I hastily, as I rose from my armchair, which was at once snapped up.

We were about to return to the club, when I observed Lady Mickleham’s barouche standing under the trees. I invited George to come and be introduced.

He displayed great indifference.

“She gives a good many parties,” said I; “and perhaps--”

“By Jove! Yes, I may as well,” said George. “Glad you had the sense to think of that, old man.”

So I took him up to Dolly and presented him. Dolly was very gracious; George is an evidently presentable boy. We fell into conversation.

“My cousin, Lady Mickleham,” said I, “has been telling me--”

“Oh, shut up, Sam!” said George, not, however, appearing very angry.

“About a subject on which you can assist him more than I can, inasmuch as you are married. He is in love.”

Dolly glanced at George.

“Oh, what fun!” said she.

“Fun!” cried George.

“I mean, how awfully interesting,” said Dolly, suddenly transforming her expression.

“And he wanted to be introduced to you because you might ask her and him to--”

George became red, and began to stammer an apology.

“Oh, I don’t believe him,” said Dolly kindly; “he always makes people uncomfortable if he can. What were you telling him, Mr. George?”

“It’s no use telling him anything. He can’t understand,” said George.

“Is she very--?” asked Dolly, fixing doubtfully grave eyes on my young cousin.

“Sam’s seen her,” said he, in an excess of shyness.

Dolly turned to me for an opinion, and I gave one:

“She is just,” said I, “as charming as he thinks her.”

Dolly leant over to my cousin, and whispered, “Tell me her name.” And he whispered something back to Dolly.

“It’s awfully kind of you, Lady Mickleham,” he said.

“I am a kind old thing,” said Dolly, all over dimples. “I can easily get to know them.”

“Oh, you really are awfully kind, Lady Mickleham.”

Dolly smiled upon him, waved her hand to me, and drove off, crying--