I said something about “Aunt Cynthia.”
“Does—does she know it all?” asked Miss Dolly.
“More than all—much more.”
“Didn’t you smooth it over?” said Miss Dolly reproachfully.
“On reflection,” said I, “I don’t know that I did—much.” (I hadn’t, you know.)
Suddenly Mickleham burst out laughing.
“What a game!” he exclaimed.
“That’s all very well for you,” said Dolly. “But do you happen to remember that we dine there tonight?” Archie grew grave.
“I hope you’ll enjoy yourselves,” said I. “I always cling to the belief that the wicked are punished.” And I looked at Miss Dolly.
“Never you mind, little woman,” said Archie, drawing Miss Dolly’s arm through his, “I’ll see you through. After all, everybody knows that old Carter’s an ass.”