“It’s the very latest thing,” said Lady Mickleham, standing by the table
in the smoking room, and holding an album in her hand.
“I wish it had been a little later still,” said I, for I felt
embarrassed.
“You promise, on your honor, to be absolutely sincere, you know, and
then you write what you think of me. See what a lot of opinions I’ve got
already,” and she held up the thick album.
“It would be extremely interesting to read them,” I observed.
“Oh! but they’re quite confidential,” said Dolly. “That’s part of the
fun.”
“I don’t appreciate that part,” said I.
“Perhaps you will when you’ve written yours,” suggested Lady Mickleham.
“Meanwhile, mayn’t I see the Dowager’s?”
“Well, I’ll show you a little bit of the Dowager’s. Look here: Our dear
Dorothea is still perhaps just a thought wanting in seriousness, but the
sense of her position is having a sobering effect.’”
“I hope not,” I exclaimed apprehensively. “Whose is this?”
“Archie’s.”
“May I see a bit--?”
“Not a bit,” said Dolly. “Archie’s is--is rather foolish, Mr. Carter.”
“So I suppose,” said I.
“Dear boy!” said Dolly reflectively.
“I hate sentiment,” said I. “Here’s a long one. Who wrote--?”
“Oh, you mustn’t look at that--not at that, above all!”
“Why above all?” I asked with some severity.
Dolly smiled; then she observed in a soothing tone.
“Perhaps it won’t be ‘above all’ when you’ve written yours, Mr. Carter.”
“By the way,” I said carelessly, “I suppose Archie sees all of them?”
“He has never asked to see them,” answered Lady Mickleham.
The reply seemed satisfactory; of course, Archie had only to ask. I took
a clean quill and prepared to write.
“You promise to be sincere, you know,” Dolly reminded me.