"I'm waiting here for Kate," I said. "I mean Myra."
"Oughtn't you to be dressing? It doesn't matter about me—I'm not on for a long time."
"A rat-catcher's best suit is not an elaborate one; I can put it on in about five minutes. It is now seven-thirty, we begin at eight-thirty—hence the billiard cue. More chalk."
"Oh, why aren't you nervous? How you can stand calmly there——"
"I am nervous. Look." I aimed carefully and put the red into a pocket some miles away. "There you are. Have you ever seen me do that in real life? Of course not. If my hand had been steady I should have been a foot to the right. Still more chalk."
"Well, I want Archie, and I shall cry if I don't find him. That's how I feel." She sat down and got up again.
"My dear Dahlia," I said solemnly, "now you can understand a father's feelings—I mean, now, you see what you women have brought on yourselves. Who suggested a play? The women. Who dragged me into it? The women. Who said rat-catchers always wore whiskers? The women. Who is designing me a pair of whiskers at this moment? The wom——Simpson. Who but for whom (this is going to be a very difficult sentence) who but for whom, would be just thinking of dressing leisurely for dinner, instead of which we had a hasty snack, and have now got to put on heaven knows what? The women. Well, it serves you right."
"Don't be horrid. I want Archie." She got up for the third time and drifted out of the room.
I chalked my cue and went into a pocket without touching anything. When I say I went in I mean that the ball I was playing with went in. You do see that? Very well, then. I took it out and began to squint along my cue again, when two hands came suddenly over my eyes and a voice said; "Guess who is is."
"The Queen of Sheba," I tried.