“Don’t scoff at me, ma’am; I’m in authority.”
“Oh, well, go ahead. Why are you questioning me?”
“It’s this way, ma’am.” Fibsy sat down astride a chair, looking over the back of it at his hostess. “You and Mrs. Embury are bosom friends, I understand.”
“From whom do you understand it?” was the tart response; “from Mrs. Embury?”
“In a manner o’ speakin’, yes; and then again, no. But aren’t you?”
“We were. We were school friends, and have been intimates for years. But since her—trouble, Mrs. Embury has thrown me over—has discarded me utterly—I’m so sorry!”
Fifi daintily touched her eyes with a tiny square of monogrammed linen, and Fibsy said, gravely,
“Careful, there; don’t dab your eyelashes too hard!”
“What!” Mrs. Desternay could scarcely believe her ears.
“Honest, you’d better look out. It’s coming off now.”