Part 37

“How human the creatures are,” said I.

“Do you know,” pursued Lady Mickleham, “that the Dowager says I’m extravagant. She thinks dogs ought not to be fed on pate de foie gras.”

“Your extravagance,” I observed, “is probably due to your having been brought up on a moderate income. I have felt the effect myself.”

“Of course,” said Dolly, “we are hit by the agricultural depression.”

“The Carters also,” I murmured, “are landed gentry.”

“After all, I don’t see much point in economy, do you, Mr. Carter?”

“Economy,” I remarked, putting my hands in my pockets, “is going without something you do want in case you should, some day, want something which you probably won’t want.”

“Isn’t that clever?” asked Dolly in an apprehensive tone.

“Oh, dear, no,” I answered reassuringly. “Anybody can do that--if they care to try, you know.”

Dolly tossed a piece of pate to the retriever.

“I have made a discovery lately,” I observed.

“What are you two talking about?” called Archie.

“You’re not meant to hear,” said Dolly, without turning round.

“Yet, if it’s a discovery, he ought to hear it.”

“He’s made a good many lately,” said Dolly.

She dug out the last bit of pate, flung it to the dog, and handed the empty pot to me.

“Don’t be so allegorical,” I implored. “Besides, it’s really not just to Archie. No doubt the dog is a nice one, but--”

“How foolish you are this morning! What’s the discovery?”

“An entirely surprising one.”

“Oh, but let me hear! It’s nothing about Archie, is it?”

“No, I’ve told you all Archie’s sins.”

“Nor Mrs. Hilary? I wish it was Mrs. Hilary!”

“Shall we walk on the terrace?” I suggested.

“Oh, yes, let’s,” said Dolly, stepping out, and putting on a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat, which she caught up from a chair hard by. “It isn’t Mrs. Hilary?” she added, sitting down on a garden seat.

“No,” said I, leaning on a sundial which stood by the seat.

“Well, what is it?”

“It is simple,” said I, “and serious. It is not, therefore, like you, Lady Mickleham.”

“It’s like Mrs. Hilary,” said Dolly.