Dolly Dialogues [13]
lived?"
"Hilary knows the address," said I.
"Silly little wretch!" mused Mrs. Hilary, still smiling.
"Goodbye," said I.
"Goodbye," said Mrs. Hilary.
I turned toward the door and had laid my hand on the knob, when Mrs. Hilary called softly:
"Mr. Carter."
"Yes," said I, turning.
"Do you know where the little wretch has gone?"
"Oh, yes," said I.
"I--I suppose you don't ever write to him?"
"Dear me, no," said I.
"But you--could?" suggested Mrs. Hilary.
"Of course," said I.
She jumped up and ran towards me. Her purse was in one hand, and a bit of paper fluttered in the other.
"Send him that--don't tell him," she whispered, and her voice had a little catch in it. "Poor little wretch!" said she.
As for me, I smiled cynically--quite cynically, you know; for it was very absurd.
"Please do," said Mrs. Hilary.
And I went.
Supposing it had been another woman? Well, I wonder!
AN EXPENSIVE PRIVILEGE
A rather uncomfortable thing happened the other day which threatened a schism in my acquaintance and put me in a decidedly awkward position. It was no other than this: Mrs. Hilary Musgrave had definitely informed me that she did not approve of Lady Mickleham. The attitude is, no doubt, a conceivable one, but I was surprised that a woman of Mrs. Hilary's large sympathies should adopt it. Besides, Mrs. Hilary is quite good-looking herself.
The history of the affair is much as follows: I called on Mrs. Hilary to see whether I could do anything, and she told me all about it. It appears that Mrs. Hilary had a bad cold and a cousin up from the country about the same time (she was justly aggrieved at the double event), and being unable to go to the Duchess of Dexminster's "squash," she asked Dolly Mickleham to chaperon little Miss Phyllis. Little Miss Phyllis, of course, knew no one there--the Duchess least of all--(but then very few of us--yes, I was there--knew the Duchess, and the Duchess didn't know any of us; I saw her shake hands with a waiter myself, just to be on the safe side), and an hour after the party began she was discovered wandering about in a most desolate condition. Dolly had told her that she would be in a certain place; and when Miss Phyllis came, Dolly was not there. The poor little lady wandered about for another hour, looking so lost that one was inclined to send for a policeman; and then she sat down on a seat by the wall, and, in desperation, asked her next-door neighbor if he knew Lady Mickleham by sight, and had he seen her lately? The next-door neighbor, by way of reply, called out to a quiet elderly gentleman who was sidling unobtrusively about, "Duke, are there any particularly snug corners in your house?" The Duke stopped, searched his memory, and said that at the end of the Red Corridor there was a passage, and that a few yards down the passage, if you turned very suddenly to the right, you would come on a little nook under the stairs. The little nook just held a settee, and the settee (the Duke thought) might just hold two people. The next-door neighbor thanked the Duke, and observed to Miss Phyllis--
"It will give me great pleasure to take you to Lady Mickleham." So they went, it being then, according to Miss Phyllis' sworn statement precisely two hours and five minutes since Dolly had disappeared; and, pursuing the route indicated by the Duke, they found Lady Mickleham. And Lady Mickleham exclaimed, "Good gracious, my dear, I'd quite forgotten you! Have you had an ice? Do take her to have an ice, Sir John." (Sir John Berry was the next-door neighbor.) And with that Lady Mickleham is said to have resumed her conversation.
"Did you ever hear anything more atrocious?" concluded Mrs. Hilary. "I really cannot think what Lord Mickleham is doing."
"You surely mean, what Lady Mickleham--?"
"No, I don't," said Mrs. Hilary, with extraordinary decision. "Anything might have happened to that poor child!"
"Oh, there were not many of the aristocracy present," said I soothingly.
"But it's not that so much as the thing
"Hilary knows the address," said I.
"Silly little wretch!" mused Mrs. Hilary, still smiling.
"Goodbye," said I.
"Goodbye," said Mrs. Hilary.
I turned toward the door and had laid my hand on the knob, when Mrs. Hilary called softly:
"Mr. Carter."
"Yes," said I, turning.
"Do you know where the little wretch has gone?"
"Oh, yes," said I.
"I--I suppose you don't ever write to him?"
"Dear me, no," said I.
"But you--could?" suggested Mrs. Hilary.
"Of course," said I.
She jumped up and ran towards me. Her purse was in one hand, and a bit of paper fluttered in the other.
"Send him that--don't tell him," she whispered, and her voice had a little catch in it. "Poor little wretch!" said she.
As for me, I smiled cynically--quite cynically, you know; for it was very absurd.
"Please do," said Mrs. Hilary.
And I went.
Supposing it had been another woman? Well, I wonder!
AN EXPENSIVE PRIVILEGE
A rather uncomfortable thing happened the other day which threatened a schism in my acquaintance and put me in a decidedly awkward position. It was no other than this: Mrs. Hilary Musgrave had definitely informed me that she did not approve of Lady Mickleham. The attitude is, no doubt, a conceivable one, but I was surprised that a woman of Mrs. Hilary's large sympathies should adopt it. Besides, Mrs. Hilary is quite good-looking herself.
The history of the affair is much as follows: I called on Mrs. Hilary to see whether I could do anything, and she told me all about it. It appears that Mrs. Hilary had a bad cold and a cousin up from the country about the same time (she was justly aggrieved at the double event), and being unable to go to the Duchess of Dexminster's "squash," she asked Dolly Mickleham to chaperon little Miss Phyllis. Little Miss Phyllis, of course, knew no one there--the Duchess least of all--(but then very few of us--yes, I was there--knew the Duchess, and the Duchess didn't know any of us; I saw her shake hands with a waiter myself, just to be on the safe side), and an hour after the party began she was discovered wandering about in a most desolate condition. Dolly had told her that she would be in a certain place; and when Miss Phyllis came, Dolly was not there. The poor little lady wandered about for another hour, looking so lost that one was inclined to send for a policeman; and then she sat down on a seat by the wall, and, in desperation, asked her next-door neighbor if he knew Lady Mickleham by sight, and had he seen her lately? The next-door neighbor, by way of reply, called out to a quiet elderly gentleman who was sidling unobtrusively about, "Duke, are there any particularly snug corners in your house?" The Duke stopped, searched his memory, and said that at the end of the Red Corridor there was a passage, and that a few yards down the passage, if you turned very suddenly to the right, you would come on a little nook under the stairs. The little nook just held a settee, and the settee (the Duke thought) might just hold two people. The next-door neighbor thanked the Duke, and observed to Miss Phyllis--
"It will give me great pleasure to take you to Lady Mickleham." So they went, it being then, according to Miss Phyllis' sworn statement precisely two hours and five minutes since Dolly had disappeared; and, pursuing the route indicated by the Duke, they found Lady Mickleham. And Lady Mickleham exclaimed, "Good gracious, my dear, I'd quite forgotten you! Have you had an ice? Do take her to have an ice, Sir John." (Sir John Berry was the next-door neighbor.) And with that Lady Mickleham is said to have resumed her conversation.
"Did you ever hear anything more atrocious?" concluded Mrs. Hilary. "I really cannot think what Lord Mickleham is doing."
"You surely mean, what Lady Mickleham--?"
"No, I don't," said Mrs. Hilary, with extraordinary decision. "Anything might have happened to that poor child!"
"Oh, there were not many of the aristocracy present," said I soothingly.
"But it's not that so much as the thing