Somehow this restored my good humor. I rose and stood with my back to the fire, stretching myself and sighing luxuriously. Dolly leant back in her chair and laughed at me.
“Do you expect to be forgiven?” she asked.
“No, no,” said I; “I had too good an excuse.”
“I wish I’d been there—at the reception, I mean.”
“I’m extremely glad you weren’t, Lady Mickleham. As it was I forgot all my troubles.”
Dolly is not resentful; she did not mind the implied description. She leant back, smiling still. I sighed again, smiled at Dolly, and took my hat. Then I turned to the mirror over the mantelpiece, arranged my necktie, and gave my hair a touch.
“No one,” I observed, “can afford to neglect the niceties of the toilet. Those dainty little curls on the forehead—”
“You’ve had none there for ten years,” cried Lady Mickleham.
“I did not mean my forehead,” said I.
Sighing once again, I held out my hand to Dolly.