Part 7

“That is, of course, enough,” said I.

“It appears, Mr. Carter--and you will excuse me if I speak plainly--(I set my teeth) that you have, in the first place, given to my son’s bride a wedding present, which I can only describe as--”

“A pearl ornament,” I interposed; “with a ruby or two, and--”

“A pearl heart,” she corrected; “er--fractured, and that you explained that this absurd article represented your heart.”

“Mere badinage,” said I.

“In execrably bad taste,” said she.

I bowed.

“In fact, most offensive. But that is not the worst. From my son’s further statements it appears that on one occasion, at least, he found you and Miss Foster engaged in what I can only call--”

I raised my hand in protest. The Countess took no notice.

“What I can only call romping.”

“Romping!” I cried.

“A thing not only atrociously vulgar at all times, but under the circumstances--need I say more? Mr. Carter, you were engaged in chasing my son’s future bride round a table!”

“Pardon me, Lady Mickleham. Your son’s future bride was engaged in chasing me round a table.”

“It is the same thing,” said Lady Mickleham.

“I should have thought there was a distinction,” said I.

“None at all.”

I fell back on a second line of defense.

“I didn’t let her catch me, Lady Mickleham,” I pleaded.

Lady Mickleham grew quite red. This made me feel more at my ease.

“No, sir. If you had--”

“Goodness knows!” I murmured, shaking my head.

“As it happened, however, my son entered in the middle of this disgraceful--”

“It was at the beginning,” said I, with a regretful sigh.

Upon this--and I have really never been so pleased at anything in all my life--the Countess, the violence of her emotions penetrating to her very fingers, gripped the handle of her “starers” with such force that she broke it in two! She was a woman of the world, and in a moment she looked as if nothing had happened. With me it was different; and that I am not now on Lady Mickleham’s visiting list is due to (inter alia et enormia) the fact that I laughed! It was out before I could help it. In a second I was as grave as a mute. The mischief was done. The Countess rose. I imitated her example.

“You are amused?” said she, and her tones banished the last of my mirth. I stumbled on my hat and it rolled to her feet.

“It is not probable,” she observed, “that after Miss Foster’s marriage you will meet her often. You will move in--er--somewhat different circles.”

“I may catch a glimpse of her in her carriage from the top of my ‘bus,” said I.

Lady Mickleham rang the bell. I stooped for my hat. To tell the truth, I was rather afraid to expose myself in such a defenseless attitude, but the Countess preserved her self control. The butler opened the door. I bowed, and left the Countess regarding me through the maimed “starers.” Then I found the butler smiling. He probably knew the signs of the weather. I wouldn’t be Lady Mickleham’s butler if you made me a duke.