“The mistake you made,” said Margaret, “was not being born in Spain.”
“Perhaps it's not irreparable,” the count interposed, with an air of gallantry.
“No, no,” said Carmen, audaciously; “by this time I should be buried in Seville. No, I should prefer Halifax, for it would have been a pleasure to emigrate from Halifax. Was it not, Mr. Ponsonby?”
“I can't remember. But it is a pleasure to sojourn in any land with Miss Eschelle.”
“Thank you. Now you shall have two cups. Come.”
The next morning, Mr. Jerry Hollowell, having inquired where Margaret was staying, called to pay his respects, as he phrased it. Carmen, who was with Margaret in the morning-room, received him with her most distinguished manner. “We all know Mr. Hollowell,” she said.
“That's not always an advantage,” retorted Uncle Jerry, seating himself, and depositing his hat beside his chair. “When do you expect your husband, Mrs. Henderson?”
“Tomorrow. But I don't mean to tell him that you are here—not at first.”
“No,” said Carmen; “we women want Mr. Henderson a little while to ourselves.”
“Why, I'm the idlest man in America. I tell Henderson that he ought to take more time for rest. It's no good to drive things. I like quiet.”