“She is my niece,” said Caroline, with admirable succinctness.
“I shall come and see her. When is she on view?”
Caroline Crewkerne enfolded herself in her mantle of high diplomacy. She paused to measure Cheriton with that hawklike eye of hers.
“A month to-morrow.”
“Capital,” said Cheriton.
He rose at his leisure.
“So long, Caroline,” said he. “It is a great pleasure to find you so fit.”
Caroline gave him a withered talon.
“Get another wig,” said she. “And consult a specialist about your mustache.”
“What, for a parson’s daughter!”