Part 5

“Yes, it’s 500,” said she, smiling. “Here’s old Lady M.’s.”

“Whose?” I exclaimed.

“Archie’s mother’s, you know. ‘My dear Dorothea (as I suppose I must call you now)--Archibald has informed us of his engagement, and I and the girls (there are five girls, Mr. Carter) hasten to welcome his bride. I am sure Archie will make his wife very happy. He is rather particular (like his dear father), but he has a good heart, and is not fidgety about his meals. Of course we shall be delighted to move out of The Towers at once. I hope we shall see a great deal of you soon. Archie is full of your praises, and we thoroughly trust his taste. Archie--’ It’s all about Archie, you see.”

“Naturally,” said I.

“Well, I don’t know. I suppose I count a little, too. Oh, look here. Here’s Cousin Fred’s, but he’s always so silly. I shan’t read you his.”

“O, just a bit of it,” I pleaded.

“Well, here’s one bit. ‘I suppose I can’t murder him, so I must wish him joy. All I can say is, Dolly, that he’s the luckiest (something I can’t read--either fellow or--devil) I ever heard of. I wonder if you’ve forgotten that evening--’”

“Well, go on.” For she stopped.

“Oh, there’s nothing else.”

“In fact, you have forgotten the evening?”

“Entirely,” said Miss Dolly, tossing her head.

“But he sends me a love of a bracelet. He can’t possibly pay for it, poor boy.”

“Young knave!” said I severely. (I had paid for my pearl heart.)

“Then comes a lot from girls. Oh, there’s one from Maud Tottenham--she’s a second cousin, you know--it’s rather amusing. ‘I used to know your FIANCE slightly. He seemed very nice, but it’s a long while ago, and I never saw much of him. I hope he is really fond of you, and that it is not a mere fancy. Since you love him so much, it would be a pity if he did not care deeply for you.’”

“Interpret, Miss Dolly,” said I.

“She tried to catch him herself,” said Miss Dolly.

“Ah, I see. Is that all?”

“The others aren’t very interesting.”

“Then let’s finish Georgy Vane’s.”

“Really?” she asked, smiling.

“Yes. Really.”

“Oh, if you don’t mind, I don’t,” said she, laughing, and she hunted out the pink note and spread it before her.

“Let me see. Where was I? Oh, here. ‘I thought you were going to be silly and throw away your chances on some of the men who used to flirt with you. Archie Mickleham may not be a genius, but he’s a good fellow and a swell and rich; and he’s not a pauper, like Phil Meadows, or a snob like Charlie Dawson, or--’ shall I go on, Mr. Carter? No, I won’t. I didn’t see what it was.”

“Yes, you shall go on.”

“O, no, I can’t,” and she folded up the letter. “Then I will,” and I’m ashamed to say I snatched the letter. Miss Dolly jumped to her feet. I fled behind the table. She ran round. I dodged.

“‘Or’” I began to read.

“Stop!” cried she.

“‘Or a young spendthrift like that man--I forget his name--who you used to go on with at such a pace at Monte Carlo last winter.’”