“They will live at the Windsor?” Philip asked.
“Oh, no; their idea is to take a ‘villa,’ as Tom calls it, somewhere in the suburbs and settle down in a housekeeping way. And, by the by, Tom is a joke—a shout! He used to be a rather decent chap, as harmless as a cockroach; a trifle on his toes, perhaps, because the Follansbees date back to Colonial times, but otherwise quite bearable. But he spent last year in England, at Oxford, and now he does everything but drop his ‘h’s.’ He was out with me this afternoon and he wore a top hat and spats. The grins we met, if put end to end, would reach from here to Leadville. He calls me ‘my deah fellaw.’”
“And the fair Eugenia?” Philip inquired maliciously.
Bromley sighed and shook his head.
“I’m still a ruined community. She is as fair as ever and she hasn’t changed a particle. I was in hopes some really good chap had cut in by this time, but I am afraid she is still taking the parental bargain as a matter of course.”
Philip’s grin was sardonic.
“And as long as she does, you’ll have to. Still, this is a man’s town, and perhaps you won’t bulk so large in the lady’s imagination after she has had time to look the Western collection over.”
Bromley shook his head again. “I shall feel like a cad doing it, but she shan’t lack for introductions, Phil; I’ll promise you that. Want to go around to the Windsor with me after dinner and meet them?”
Philip’s laugh was a bray. “And let you start the introductions with me? Thanks, I wouldn’t be that unkind to you,” he bantered.
“Let’s talk about something pleasant,” Bromley broke in whimsically; “our friends from Mississippi, for example. You remember the little rescue plan we were talking about last week?”