“It is simple,” said I, “and serious. It is not, therefore, like you, Lady Mickleham.”
“It’s like Mrs. Hilary,” said Dolly.
“No; because it isn’t pleasant. By the way, you are jealous of Mrs. Hilary?”
Dolly said nothing at all. She took off her hat, roughened her hair a little, and assumed an effective pose. Still, it is a fact (for what it is worth) that she doesn’t care much about Mrs. Hilary.
“The discovery,” I continued, “is that I’m growing middle-aged.”
“You are middle-aged,” said Dolly, spearing her hat with its long pin.
I was, very naturally, nettled at this.
“So will you be soon,” I retorted.
“Not soon,” said Dolly.
“Some day,” I insisted.