“Welcome, dear ladies,” I said. “You almost caught me napping. I believe
I have been dreaming, and seemed to hear voices.”
I looked at Millicent, and thought she understood; but it did not occur
to Mrs. Loring that I might have overheard.
“You dream a good deal nowadays, Mr. Butterfield, don’t you?” she said,
somewhat acidulously.
“I fear, Mrs. Loring,” I replied, “that I have lately done it to an
extent that is almost criminal.”
She was still unenlightened, but I saw that Millicent guessed. I made
places for them on either side of me, but Mrs. Loring hesitated,
standing. No chance is too trivial for a matchmaker.
“Sit down, Mrs. Loring,” I said, making myself comfortable just out of
the sun.
She sat down. I continued:
“I have been watching the sunset here all alone. It is a lovely evening.
You and Loring have doubtless been sitting hand in hand, waiting for the
twilight? No? The surroundings seem to call for that kind of thing
somehow, don’t you think?”
“I’m glad to hear you say so, Mr. Butterfield. I have hopes of you even
yet. The evening certainly inspires such--such things--providing they
are strictly _en règle_.”
“Most decidedly,” I assented; “that must always be understood. I admit
that it is a delicate matter--that there are times when even the most
permissible caress becomes unseasonable, just as at others an
unseasonable one is almost permissible. But as a general rule such
proceedings must be, as you say, strictly _en règle_.”
“I find you in a most reasonable mood this evening, Mr. Butterfield,”
she approved, with a glance at Millicent. “Dreaming evidently does you
good. Pray continue.”