“Does--does she know it all?” asked Miss Dolly.
“More than all--much more.”
“Didn’t you smooth it over?” said Miss Dolly reproachfully.
“On reflection,” said I, “I don’t know that I did--much.” (I hadn’t, you
know.)
Suddenly Mickleham burst out laughing.
“What a game!” he exclaimed.
“That’s all very well for you,” said Dolly. “But do you happen to
remember that we dine there tonight?” Archie grew grave.
“I hope you’ll enjoy yourselves,” said I. “I always cling to the belief
that the wicked are punished.” And I looked at Miss Dolly.
“Never you mind, little woman,” said Archie, drawing Miss Dolly’s arm
through his, “I’ll see you through. After all, everybody knows that old
Carter’s an ass.”
That piece of universal knowledge may help matters, but I do not quite
see how. I walked on, for Miss Dolly had quite forgotten me, and was
looking up at Archie Mickleham like--well, hang it, in the way they do,
you know. So I just walked on.
I believe Miss Dolly has got a husband who is (let us say) good enough
for her. And, for one reason and another, I am glad of it. And I also
believe that she knows it. And I am--I suppose--glad of that, too. Oh,
yes, of course, I am. Of course.