“I wonder,” hesitated Mother, folding her little hands and eyeing him, “if you would care to lunch with us—if you would not be too dull with two ladies. We should be so very pleased.”
Mr. Prodger became intensely serious again. He seemed to brace himself to meet the luncheon invitation. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Fawcett. I should be delighted.”
“That will be very nice,” said Mother, warmly. “Let me see. Today is Monday—isn’t it, Milly? Would Wednesday suit you?”
Mr. Prodger replied, “It would suit me excellently to lunch with you on Wednesday, Mrs. Fawcett. At mee-dee, I presume, as they call it here.”
“Oh, no! We keep our English times. At one o’clock,” said Mother.
And that being arranged, Mr. Prodger became more and more ceremonious and bowed himself out of the room.
Mother rang for Marie to look after him, and a moment later the big glass hall-door shut.
“Well!” said Mother. She was all smiles. Little smiles like butterflies, alighting on her lips and gone again. “That was an adventure, Milly, wasn’t it, dear? And I thought he was such a very charming man, didn’t you?”
Milly made a little face at Mother and rubbed her eye.