'I don't know. She's so confidential, and perhaps she wanted me to know how she was placed. And—she's not that sort of person—she's generous and liberal, rather extravagant I should say.'
'Quite so. Still, it's comfortable here, and saves trouble—and she likes us.'
Bruce again looked up toward the mirror, though he couldn't see it now.
'Well, I don't mind her being here; it's a nice change, but it seems odd she hasn't said a word about going. Well, about the dinner. Who else shall we have, Edith? Let it be a small, intimate, distinguished sort of dinner. She hates stiffness and ceremony. She likes to have a chance to talk.'
'She does, indeed. All right, you can leave it to me, Bruce. I'll make it all right. We'll have about eight people, shall we?'
'She must sit next to me, on my left,' Bruce observed. 'And not lilies of the valley—she doesn't like the scent.'
Madame Frabelle was usually designated between them by the personal pronoun only.
'All right. But what was the delicate, difficult matter that someone consulted you about, Bruce?'
'Ah, I was just coining to that…. Hush!'
The door opened. Madame Frabelle came in, dressed in a violet tea-gown.