"He's a bad lot, that young Van Tromp," I exclaimed, impulsively. "Perhaps I ought not to talk against another man--ah--behind her--I mean his--back, but Van Romeo's too easy, girls. He writes poetry. I have no doubt that he makes puns. Charming--ah--day, isn't it?"
My beautiful callers had lost their vivacity. One of them--a pretty little brunette--had grown pale.
"What about the coaching-party, Mrs. Stevens?" the one I took to be the eldest of the three ventured to ask, presently.
"It's all arranged--ah--my dear," I answered, recklessly. "We're to have a dozen cases of champagne and a brass band of ten pieces. I'm up for all day, you see. If little Van Tromp praised my executive ability--ah--girls, he'd have a career open to him. Merrily we'll bowl along, bowl along--I'm to handle the reins, you know."
There were now three pallid maidens confronting me. In the eyes of the eldest I saw a gleam of mingled suspicion and fear.
"I must be going," she gasped.
"Don't go," I implored her, overacting my hospitable role a bit. There flashed through my mind a scene from a Gilbert-Sullivan opera--"The Mikado"--and I caught myself humming the air of "Three Little Girls from School Are We."
Jones, to my consternation, stalked into the drawing-room, as if about to reprove me for my lack of dignity.
"Pardon me, madame," said my bête noir, pompously, "but Mr. Stevens insists upon your coming to the telephone."
My callers were on their feet, instantly. They appeared to be glad of an excuse for leaving me, and, also, somewhat astonished at the butler's choice of words.