"See here, Lucette," I said sternly, "I'm not going to fence with you or
fool round at cross purposes. Less than an hour ago Gertrude sent over a
note, asking me to call."
"To which you returned an insufferable verbal reply."
"A bad-tempered reply, I admit. No insult was intended. And I've come
now to apologize for the temper."
"Oh, dear!" sighed Lucette. "Men always do their thinking too late. I
wish I could reassure you; but the mischief seems to be done. Poor
Gertrude is furious."
"Then the headache is--hypothetical?"
"An excuse, you mean? I wish it were, for her sake!" Lucette's eyes
positively caressed me, as a tiger might lick the still-warm muzzle of
an antelope, its proximate meal. "If you could see her face, poor
creature! She's in torment."
"I'm sorry."
"Isn't that--what you called her headache?"
"No. I'm ashamed of my boorishness. Let me see Gertrude and tell her
so."
Lucette smiled, slightly shaking her head. "Impossible--till she's
feeling better. And not then--unless she changes her mind. You see,
Ambrose, Mrs. Parrot's version of your reply was the last straw."
"No doubt she improved on the original," I muttered.
"Oh, no doubt," agreed Lucette calmly. "She would. It was silly of you
not to think of that."
"Yes," I snapped. "Men always underestimate a woman's malice."
"They have so many distractions, poor dears. Men, I mean. And we have so
few. You can put that in your next article, Ambrose?" She straightened
her languid curves deliberately, as if preparing to rise.
"Please!" I exclaimed. "I'm not ready for dismissal yet. We'll get down
to facts, if you don't mind. Why is Gertrude here at all? After years of
silence? Did you send for her?"
Lucette's spine slowly relaxed, her shoulders drooped once more. "I? My
dear Ambrose, why on earth should I do a thing like that?"
"I don't know. The point is, did you?"
"You think it in character?"
"Oh--be candid! I don't mean directly, of course. But is she here
because of anything you may have telephoned her--after your call last
night?"
"Really, Ambrose! This is a little too much, even from you."
"Forgive me--I insist! Is she?"
"You must have a very bad conscience," replied Lucette.
"I am more interested in yours."