“Who was the girl with Miss Carrington?” Croyden asked. “I didn’t see her face.”
“I couldn’t see it!” said Macloud. “I noticed a bag in the trap, however, so I reckon she’s a guest.”
“Unfortunate for you!” Croyden sympathized. “Your opportunity, for the solitariness of two, will be limited.”
“I’ll look to you for help!” Macloud answered.
“Humph! You may look in vain. It depends on what she is—I’m not sacrificing myself on the 255 altar of general unattractiveness.” Then he laughed. “Rest easy, I’ll fuss her to the limit. You shan’t have her to plead for an excuse.”
“An excuse for what?”
“For not winning the Symphony in Blue.”
“You’re overly solicitous. I’m not worried about the guest,” Macloud remarked.
“There was a certain style about as much of her as I could see which promised very well,” Croyden remarked. “I think this would be a good day to drop in for tea.”
“And if you find her something over sixty, you’ll gallantly shove her off on me, and preëmpt Miss Carrington. Oh! you’re very kind.”