I was expecting this. "Yes," I said. "Once I thought I had; now I am sure of it. Some day I shall tell you an interesting story."
"We came up to ask you to dine with us this evening," she said, trailing her brown-gloved finger over the dusty desk. "Are you at liberty?"
"No. I have only just met my cousin, and have promised to dine with him."
"If that is all, bring him along. I like his face."
We passed out of the file room.
"Phyllis, we must be going, dear," said Ethel.
I led Phyllis down the narrow stairs. A handsome victoria stood at the curb.
"I shall be pleased to hear your story," said she.
It occurred to me that the tale might not be to her liking. So I said: "But it is one of those disagreeable stories; one where all should end nicely, but doesn't; one which ends, leaving the hero, the heroine, and the reader dissatisfied with the world in general, and the author (who is Fate) in particular."
I knew that she was puzzled. She wasn't quite sure that I was not referring to the old affair.