Mrs. May cuddled herself together among her cushions. The slightest glimmer of a smile lifted the corners of her pursy mouth towards her parsimonious nose. Her husband essayed once more the fascinating “flick” of burnt ash from his cigar.
“They’d have been as dull as a sermon at tea-time if it hadn’t been for me,” he resumed. “You see, I kept the ball rolling.”
“Naturally!—it’s tennis,” murmured his wife, drowsily.
“Don’t be a fool, Margaret! I mean I keep people amused.”
“I’m sure you do!” his “Margaret” agreed, as she smothered another yawn. “You’re the most amusing man I know!”
“Glad you admit it!” he said, captiously. “Not being amusing yourself, you ought to thank God you’ve got an amusing husband!”
This time Mrs. May emitted a bleating giggle.
“I do!”
“Now if it were not for Diana——”
His wife opened her eyes.