“By the merest chance,” I observed meditatively, “I attended a reception
last night.”
“I went to three,” said Lady Mickleham, selecting a sardine sandwich
with care.
“I might not have gone,” I mused, “I might easily not have gone.”
“I can’t see what difference it would have made if you hadn’t,” said
she.
“I thought three times about going. It’s a curious world.”
“What happened? You may smoke, you know.”
“I fell in love,” said I, lighting a cigarette.
Lady Mickleham placed her feet on the fender--it was a chilly
afternoon--and turned her face to me, shielding it from the fire with
her handkerchief.
“Men of your age,” she remarked, “have no business to be thinking of
such things.”
“I was not thinking of it,” said I. “I was thinking of going home. Then
I was introduced to her.”
“And you stayed a little, I suppose?”
“I stayed two hours--or two minutes,--I forget which--“; and, I added,
nodding my head at Lady Mickleham, “There was something irresistible
about me last night.”
Lady Mickleham laughed.
“You seem very pleased with yourself,” she said, reaching for a fan to
replace the handkerchief.
“Yes, take care of your complexion,” said I approvingly. “She has a
lovely complexion.”
Lady Mickleham laid down the fan.
“I am very pleased with myself,” I continued. “She was delighted with
me.”
“I suppose you talked nonsense to her.”
“I have not the least idea what I talked to her. It was quite
immaterial. The language of the eyes--”
“Oh, you might be a boy!”
“I was,” said I, nodding again.
There was a long silence. Dolly looked at me; I looked at the fire. I
did not, however, see the fire. I saw something quite different.
“She liked me very much,” I observed, stretching my hands out toward the
blaze.
“You absurd old man!--” said Dolly. “Was she very charming?”
“She was perfect.”
“How? Clever?”