Part 36

“N-no,” said Dolly, “not exactly wrong. In fact, I rather think I like that last bit best. Still, don’t you think--?”

She rose, came round the table, took up the pen, and put it back in my hand. “What’s this for?” I asked.

“To correct the mistake,” said Dolly.

“Do you really think so?” said I.

“I’m afraid so,” said Dolly.

I took the pen and made a certain alteration. Dolly took up the album.

“‘Are unanimous,’” she read, “in encouraging all others to seek a similar privilege.’ Yes, you meant that, you know, Mr. Carter.”

“I suppose I must have,” said I rather sulkily.

“The other was nonsense,” urged Dolly.

“Oh, utter nonsense,” said I.

“And you had to write the truth!”

“Yes, I had to write some of it.”

“And nonsense can’t be the truth, can it, Mr. Carter?”

“Of course it can’t, Lady Mickleham.”

“Where are you going, Mr. Carter?” she asked; for I rose from my chair.

“To have a quiet smoke,” said I.

“Alone?” asked Dolly.

“Yes, alone,” said I.

I walked towards the door. Dolly stood by the table fingering the album. I had almost reached the door; then I happened to look round.

“Mr. Carter!” said Dolly, as though a new idea had struck her.

“What is it, Lady Mickleham?”

“Well, you know, Mr. Carter, I--I shall try to forget that mistake of yours.”

“You’re very kind, Lady Mickleham.”

“But,” said Dolly with a troubled smile, “I--I’m quite afraid I shan’t succeed, Mr. Carter.”

After all, the smoking room is meant for smoking.

AN UNCOUNTED HOUR

We were standing, Lady Mickleham and I, at a door which led from the morning room to the terrace at The Towers. I was on a visit to the historic pile (by Vanbrugh--out of the money accumulated by the third Earl--Paymaster to the Forces--temp. Queen Anne). The morning room is a large room. Archie was somewhere in it. Lady Mickleham held a jar containing pate de foie gras; from time to time she dug a piece out with a fork and flung the morsel to a big retriever which was sitting on the terrace. The morning was fine, but cloudy. Lady Mickleham wore blue. The dog swallowed the pate with greediness.

“It’s so bad for him,” sighed she; “but the dear likes it so much.”