A merry, even affectionate smile robbed this speech of all unpleasant effect, and Sir Herbert smiled back.
“Not that,” he returned; “I’d be ill fitted to attend to a bakery business with a horde of enchanting damsels cavorting around the shop! No, chorus girls are all right in their place,—which is not in the home, nor yet in a business office.”
“That’s true, and I take off my hat to you, Uncle, as a real live business man, with his undivided attention on his work,—in business hours,—and outside of those, his doings are nobody’s business.”
“With your leanings toward the fair sex, it’s a wonder you never married,” observed Miss Prall, inquisitively.
“My leanings toward them in no way implies their leanings toward me,” returned the bachelor, his eyes twinkling. “And, moreover, a regard for one of the fair sex that would imply a thought of marriage with her, would be another matter entirely from a liking for the little stars of the chorus. To me they are not even individuals, they are merely necessary parts of an entertaining picture. I care no more for them, personally, than for the orchestra that makes music for their dancing feet, or for the stage manager who produces the setting for their engaging gracefulness.”
“That’s so, Uncle,” Bates agreed; “you’re a stage Johnny, all right, but you’re no Lothario.”
“Thank you, Son, such discriminating praise from Sir Hubert Stanley, makes me more than ever regret not having his association in my business affairs.”
“Don’t be too sure that you won’t have him,” Miss Prall temporized; “when does his time for decision expire?”
“To-night,” said Sir Herbert, briefly, and at that, with a gesture of bored impatience, Bates got up and went out.