“That’s very unkind of you, when I recall vividly that you had a pink dress.”
“Oh I remember that dress—your strawberry tarletan: you looked lovely in it!” Mrs. Mavis broke out. “You must get another just like it—on the other side.”
“Yes, your daughter looked charming in it,” said Jasper Nettlepoint. Then he added to the girl: “Yet you mentioned my name to your mother.”
“It came back to me—seeing you here. I had no idea this was your home.”
“Well, I confess it isn’t, much. Oh there are some drinks!”—he approached the tray and its glasses.
“Indeed there are and quite delicious”—Mrs. Mavis largely wiped her mouth.
“Won’t you have another then?—a pink one, like your daughter’s gown.”
“With pleasure, sir. Oh do see them over,” Mrs. Mavis continued, accepting from the young man’s hand a third tumbler.
“My mother and that gentleman? Surely they can take care of themselves,” he freely pleaded.
“Then my daughter—she has a claim as an old friend.”