"And I prefer it," Lady Olive went on, filling my outstretched hands. "Mr. Arbuthnot, did I gather correctly from what you were saying when I came up that you dine with us to-night?"
"I am to have that happiness, Lady Olive," I answered; "and, if I don't hurry off now, I'm afraid I shall be late."
"Then don't stop another moment," she laughed. "But, Mr. Arbuthnot——"
I halted resignedly and turned round.
"Well?"
"Oh, nothing, only Maud and I expect you to show us this evening whose taste you choose to follow."
"In what respect?" I asked.
"Why, chrysanthemums, of course! Maud has chosen white, I have chosen bronze. We shall both look out eagerly to see whose colours you wear in your buttonhole to-night, If you wear a white one, I sha'n't speak to you all the evening. Mind, I warn you."
"What nonsense you talk, Olive!" said Maud, carelessly, but with a slight flush rising into her cheeks. "As if it could make the slightest possible difference to me which colour Mr. Arbuthnot prefers in chrysanthemums!"
There was a distinct vein of contempt in her concluding sentence, and Lady Olive, noticing it, looked at us both in surprise.