PAULINE in the happiness which had come to her lately had forgotten Miss Verney; and when one morning she met that solitary spinster, whose pale and watery eyes were uttering such reproach, she promised impulsively to come to tea that very afternoon and bring with her a friend.
"You've certainly quite deserted me lately," said Miss Verney in that wavering falsetto of hers through which the echoes maybe of a once admired soprano could still be distinctly heard.
"Oh, but I've been so busy, Miss Verney."
"Yes, I daresay. Well, I used to be busy once myself. Here's lovely weather for the first of April. Quite a treat to be out of doors. Now, don't make an April fool of your poor old Miss Verney by forgetting to come this afternoon. Who's the friend you are anxious to bring?"
"Mr. Hazlewood. He's living at Plashers Mead, you know."
"Dear me, a gentleman? Then he won't enjoy coming to see me."
"But he will, Miss Verney, because he writes poetry, and you know you told me once that you used to write poetry."
"Ah, well, dear me, that's a secret I should never have let out. Well, good-bye, my dear, and pray don't forget to come, for I shall be having cakes, you know."
Miss Verney, whose unhappy love-affair in a dim past had been Pauline's cherished secret since the afternoon of her seventeenth birthday, bowed with much dignity; and Pauline, lest she should offend her again, had to turn round several times to smile and wave farewells before Miss Verney disappeared into the confectioner's shop.
When she got home, Pauline asked her mother if she thought it mattered taking Guy to tea with Miss Verney.