“Then I don’t remember. That’s the only Beethoven I ever remember specially.”
“And you, if I may say so, took away my umbrella, inadvertently of course.”
“Likely enough,” Helen laughed, “for I steal umbrellas even oftener than I hear Beethoven. Did you get it back?”
“Yes, thank you, Miss Schlegel.”
“The mistake arose out of my card, did it?” interposed Margaret.
“Yes, the mistake arose—it was a mistake.”
“The lady who called here yesterday thought that you were calling too, and that she could find you?” she continued, pushing him forward, for, though he had promised an explanation, he seemed unable to give one.
“That’s so, calling too—a mistake.”
“Then why—?” began Helen, but Margaret laid a hand on her arm.
“I said to my wife,” he continued more rapidly—“I said to Mrs. Bast, ‘I have to pay a call on some friends,’ and Mrs. Bast said to me, ‘Do go.’ While I was gone, however, she wanted me on important business, and thought I had come here, owing to the card, and so came after me, and I beg to tender my apologies, and hers as well, for any inconvenience we may have inadvertently caused you.”