After ten minutes’ steady work, which included several pauses for reflection, I threw down the pen, leant back in my chair, and lit a cigarette.
“Now read it,” said Dolly, her chin in her hands and her eyes fixed on me.
“It is, on the whole,” I observed, “complimentary.”
“No, really,” said Dolly. “Yet you promised to be sincere.”
“You would not have had me disagreeable?” I asked.
“That’s a different thing,” said Dolly. “Read it, please.”
“Lady Mickleham,” I read, “is usually accounted a person of considerable attractions. She is widely popular, and more than one woman has been known to like her.”
“I don’t quite understand that,” interrupted Dolly.
“It is surely simple,” said I; and I read on without delay. “She is kind even to her husband, and takes the utmost pains to conceal from her mother-in-law anything calculated to distress that lady.”
“I suppose you mean that to be nice?” said Dolly.