Mr. Harper knew that he alone was intended, because no other gentleman was there. Nervously he sat down in a creaking and rickety cane chair. The "Harry" had flattered him a goodish bit, since Miss Dobbs was quite as much a lady in her home as she was out of it; also she had for a friend another lady, a very nice and clever one, with a refined voice, smart clothes, and a great amount of jewelry. She had also the air and the manners of Society, of which he had learned in the works of the famous novelist, W. M. Thackeray. The way in which Miss Bonser produced a private case and offered it to him after choosing a cigarette for herself, somehow reminded him of "Vanity Fair."
"Harry don't smoke, do you, Harry?" said the hostess, covering Mr. Harper's extreme confusion with rare tact and spontaneity.
Miss Dobbs then made tea, and by the time Mr. Harper had had two large and cracked cups of a weak brew and had eaten one piece of buttered cake, being too shy to eat anything else in spite of great pressure, he was able to collect himself a little.
"Cora tells me you are writing a book, Harry," said Miss Bonser conversationally.
Mr. Harper admitted this, although again startled by the Harry.
"You don't mind, do you," said Miss Bonser, in answer to his face. "'Mister' is so formal. I'm all for being friendly and pleasant myself. What was I saying? Oh, about the book you are writing. My best boy, Bert Hobson, the novelist, makes simply pots of money. He's got a serial running now in the Covent Garden. You've read it, I daresay."
It appeared that Mr. Harper had not read the story.
"Well, you ought reelly." Mr. Harper noticed that Miss Bonser pronounced the polite word "reelly" exactly as Miss Foldal did, although a much more fashionable lady in other respects than the good fairy of Blackhampton. "Start at once. Do it now. It's Albert's top notch." To Miss Dobbs: "Don't you think so, dear?"
Miss Dobbs was quite of Miss Bonser's opinion.
"What's the name of your book?" asked Miss Bonser.