“Oh, ever so much. How do you do, dear Mrs. Gray? I am delighted to see you. I was just saying to Mr. Drummond that it seems to me that our winter this year is so much like a Roman winter. Did you ever think of it?”
“Oh, my dear, I have thought of nothing else all winter. Why, it is just such a day as it was one afternoon two years ago when I was in Rome.”
“Were you in Rome year before last?” Mr. Drummond inquires, with the air of one to whom the answer of the question is of the most vital importance, although he asks only for the sake of being silent no longer.
“Yes, we went in October and stayed until March. You remember, Mrs. Jones, that we dined with you the very day before we sailed.”
“Why, yes, so you did. I had forgotten all about it. Are you going?”
“Yes, I really must go. I have three places more to call before I go home, and we are going out to dinner.”
“I shall see you if you dine at the Muchmen’s.”
“Oh, are you to be there? How lovely.”
“I hope to take one of you in,” Mr. Drummond says, with a smile of the most brilliant vacuity.
“Are you to be there, too? Why, it will be quite a reunion. Au revoir.”