“And so I was going to Paris?”
“But your steamer leaves at four, you say? What are you tarrying here for?”
“Mais, pour vos beaux yeux——”
“Mr. ’Olyoke,” said the footman from behind the heavy curtains. Wemyss struck his two hands together in mock desperation; but as a matter of fact, the interruption was opportune, for he did not in the least know what to do next. There is a certain point in talk beyond which anything not final is an anti-climax.
“Say you are not at home,” said he, eagerly.
But Mrs. Gower chose to be very gracious to Arthur. She gave him her hand with the simple cordiality of a school-girl. “I am so glad you have not forgotten our drive,” said she.
Arthur had quite forgotten it; so he filled up the time by bowing to Mr. Wemyss; a salute which that gentleman received with some stiffness. Mrs. Gower made a very suggestion of a tinkle in a bell that stood at her elbow.
“Horridge, are the ponies ready?”
“Mrs. Gower’s carriage his hin waiting,” said Horridge, with a respectful gasp or two before the vowels.
“You see, Mr. Wemyss,” said Flossie. “I hope you have not missed your steamer. I must not keep you for one moment longer.”