“It is not probable,” she observed, “that after Miss Foster’s marriage you will meet her often. You will move in—er—somewhat different circles.”
“I may catch a glimpse of her in her carriage from the top of my ‘bus,” said I.
Lady Mickleham rang the bell. I stooped for my hat. To tell the truth, I was rather afraid to expose myself in such a defenseless attitude, but the Countess preserved her self control. The butler opened the door. I bowed, and left the Countess regarding me through the maimed “starers.” Then I found the butler smiling. He probably knew the signs of the weather. I wouldn’t be Lady Mickleham’s butler if you made me a duke.
As I walked home through the Park, I met Miss Dolly and Mickleham. They stopped.
I walked on. Mickleham seized me by the coat tails.
“Do you mean to cut us?” he cried.
“Yes,” said I.
“Why, what the deuce?—” he began.
“I’ve seen your mother,” said I. “I wish, Mickleham, that when you do happen to intrude as you did the other day, you wouldn’t repeat what you see.”
“Lord!” he cried. “She’s not heard of that. I only told Aunt Cynthia.”