Jane nodded and coolly extended her hand. “How do you do,” she said, tepidly polite, and then quickly to her hostess. “It was very nice of you to think of me, Nellie. It seems ages since Pau, doesn’t it?”
“Ages! You unpleasant person. When you get as old as I am, you’ll never mention the flight of time. Ugh!”
Her shudder was very effective. Nellie Pennington was thirty-five, looked twenty, and knew it.
“What difference does it make,” laughed Jane, “when Time forgets one?”
“Very prettily said, my dear. Time may amble, but he’s too nimble to let you get him by the forelock.” And turning she greeted the late comers.
Jane turned to Mr. Gallatin, who was saying something at her ear.
“I beg your pardon,” she said.
“I hope you don’t think that I—I am responsible for this situation,” he repeated.
“What situation, Mr. Gallatin?”
“I hope you don’t think that I knew I was to go in to dinner with you.”