Caroline and Mr. Glascock did not meet each other again till late in the evening, and just as he was about to take his leave. As they came together each of them involuntarily looked round to see whether Miss Petrie was near. Had she been there nothing would have been said beyond the shortest farewell greeting. But Miss Petrie was afar off, electrifying some Italian by the vehemence of her sentiments, and the audacious volubility of a language in which all arbitrary restrictions were ignored. "Are you going?" she asked.
"Well;—I believe I am. Since I saw you last I've encountered Miss Petrie again, and I'm rather depressed."
"Ah;—you don't know her. If you did you wouldn't laugh at her."
"Laugh at her! Indeed I do not do that; but when I'm told that I'm to be thrown into the oven and burned because I'm such a worn-out old institution—"
"You don't mean to say that you mind that!"
"Not much, when it comes up in the ordinary course of conversation; but it palls upon one when it is asserted for the fourth or fifth time in an evening."
"Alas, alas!" exclaimed Miss Spalding, with mock energy.
"And why, alas?"
"Because it is so impossible to make the oil and vinegar of the old world and of the new mix together and suit each other."
"You think it is impossible, Miss Spalding?"