As the waggon swayed by—
“How d’ye do?” said Mrs. Medallion, extending her hand. “Don’t you feel well?”
“P-p-perfectly, thank you, Aunt Ira,” stammered the unfortunate Toby, touching her glove. “D’you feel all right? I mean . . . I—I do hope you’re well,” he added piously.
After a long look—
“My health,” said Mrs. Medallion, “leaves little to be desired.” She turned to her companion about to re-enter the car. “Miss Woolly, this is my nephew, Captain Rage. Captain Rage—Miss Woolly.” The two bowed. “Why are you here, Toby?”
“Well, I’m—I’m really at Biarritz,” stammered Rage. “You know, taking—taking a sort of holiday there.”
“Well, I’m really at Pau,” said his aunt, staring. “Taking a sort of rest. I don’t know what from, but the doctors advised the change. What’s your trouble? Nerves?”
“Good Heavens, no, Aunt Ira.” He laughed uneasily. “I’m perfectly well. But I was so—so dumbfounded. You know. Er, er, astonished.”
“ ‘Dumbfounded’ will do,” said his aunt. “I’m quite familiar with the word.”
“Of course,” said Toby. “What I mean is I never dreamed——”