Mrs. Pettigrew, visiting the library on one of her frequent errands, was encountered there and devotedly escorted home by Mr. Skee.
"That is a most fascinating young lady who has Mr. Dykeman's room; don't you think so, ma'am?" quoth he.
"I do not," said Mrs. Pettigrew. "Young! She's not so young as you are—nothing like—never was!"
He threw back his head and laughed his queer laugh, which looked so uproarious and made so little noise.
"She certainly is a charmer, whatever her age may be," he continued.
"Glad you think so, Mr. Skee. It may be time you lost a fourth!"
"Lost a fourth? What in the—Hesperides!"
"If you can't guess what, you needn't ask me!" said the lady, with some tartness. "But for my own part I prefer the Apaches. Good afternoon, Mr. Skee."
She betook herself to her room with unusual promptness, and refused to be baited forth by any kind of offered amusement.