“What we were—? Oh, to be sure, the—the blemishes?”
“Yes, the blemishes. You said they were the most—”
“Oh, well, it was a facon de parler.”
“I was afraid you weren’t a bit sincere,” said Dolly humbly.
“Well, judge by yourself,” said I with a candid air.
“But I said nothing!” cried Dolly.
“It was incomparably the most artistic thing to do,” said I.
“I’m sometimes afraid you don’t do me justice, Mr. Carter,” remarked Dolly with some pathos.
I did not care to enter upon that discussion, and a pause followed. Then Dolly, in a timid manner, asked me—
“Do you remember the dreadful thing that happened the same evening?”