“She sized you up last night,” said Berty, mournfully.
“Did she say anything about me?” asked Mr. Jimson, eagerly.
“Not a word—but she looked unutterable things.”
“Do you think I’d better call on her?” he asked, desperately.
“Oh, gracious, no!” cried Berty, “you’d spoil everything. Leave matters to me in future.”
“I thought I might explain,” he said, with a crestfallen air.
“What would you explain?” asked Berty, cuttingly.
“I’d tell her—well, I’d just remark casually after we’d spoken about the weather that she might have noticed that there was something queer, or that I was a little out in some of my remarks—”
“Well,” said Berty, severely, “what then?”
“I’d just inform her, in a passing way, that I’d always been a steady man, and that if she would kindly overlook the past—”