"Don't be cross, Alix," I said, trying to keep the peace. "I really did forget them."
"Oh dear, yes, I never doubted it!" answered Alix, in that way of hers which always tries my patience. "Life is sacred to the memory of Guy, but my trouble and Umberge's likings are of no consequence at all! And it does not matter that the Baron de Montbeillard and his lady will be here, and that we shall have a dish too little on the table. Not in the least!"
"Well, really, Alix, I don't think it does much matter," said I.
"Of course not. And the Lady de Montbeillard will not go home and tell everybody what a bad housekeeper I am, and how little I care to have things nice for my guests—Oh dear, no!"
"If you treat her kindly, I should think her very ungrateful if she did," said I.
Alix flounced away with—"I wish you were gone after Guy!"
And so did I.
But at night, just before I dropped asleep, a new idea came to me—an idea that never occurred to me before.
Do I try Alix as much as she tries me?
Oh dear! I hope not. It cannot be. I don't think it is possible. Is it?