“Where has Aunt Selina been for the last two or three years?” he asked easily.
Jim turned, and his face brightened.
“Europe. Look here, Dal, you’re a smart chap. She’ll only be here about four hours. Can’t you think of some way to get me out of this? I want to let her down easy, too. I’m mighty fond of Aunt Selina. Can’t we—can’t I say Bella has a headache?”
“Rotten!” laconically.
“Gone out of town?” Jim was desperate.
“And you with a houseful of dinner guests! Try again, Jim.”
“I have it,” Jim said suddenly. “Dallas, ask Anne if she won’t play hostess for tonight. Be Mrs. Wilson pro tem. Anne would love it. Aunt Selina never saw Bella. Then, afterward, next year, when I’m hung in the Academy and can stand on my feet”—(“Not if you’re hung,” Dallas interjected.)—“I’ll break the truth to her.”
But Dallas was not enthusiastic.
“Anne wouldn’t do at all,” he declared. “She’d be talking about the kids before she knew it, and patting me on the head.” He said it complacently; Anne flirts, but they are really devoted.
“One of the Mercer girls?” I suggested, but Jimmy raised a horrified hand.