“‘Are unanimous,’” she read, “in encouraging all others to seek a
similar privilege.’ Yes, you meant that, you know, Mr. Carter.”
“I suppose I must have,” said I rather sulkily.
“The other was nonsense,” urged Dolly.
“Oh, utter nonsense,” said I.
“And you had to write the truth!”
“Yes, I had to write some of it.”
“And nonsense can’t be the truth, can it, Mr. Carter?”
“Of course it can’t, Lady Mickleham.”
“Where are you going, Mr. Carter?” she asked; for I rose from my chair.
“To have a quiet smoke,” said I.
“Alone?” asked Dolly.
“Yes, alone,” said I.
I walked towards the door. Dolly stood by the table fingering the album.
I had almost reached the door; then I happened to look round.
“Mr. Carter!” said Dolly, as though a new idea had struck her.
“What is it, Lady Mickleham?”
“Well, you know, Mr. Carter, I--I shall try to forget that mistake of
yours.”
“You’re very kind, Lady Mickleham.”
“But,” said Dolly with a troubled smile, “I--I’m quite afraid I shan’t
succeed, Mr. Carter.”
After all, the smoking room is meant for smoking.