“Of course, that’s the best part of it. Easy things never get you anywhere. Effective medicine is almost always bitter.” He came to put his hands on her shoulders.
“Why, you’re not so old,” she said bluntly, “are you?”
“Not half so old as I’d like to be; age is so safe, Thurley, when you are dealing in temperament! You can growl much more effectively.”
“You mean people fall in love with you?” she asked spiritedly. “Is that what you shrink from?” Her naïve impertinence was unconscious.
“I cringe! Which is worse than mere shrinking.” He gave her a little shake. “You funny, round-cheeked girl, run along. You’ll be in opera before we realize it and adopting the airs and graces of an empress. But I shall remember you as the direct, rosy-cheeked young person who demanded if I feared having people love me.” His eyes closed briefly and then he whirled her around as if she were a small boy. “Be off! Ah, yes, here’s a note—I nearly did forget.” He reached in an inner pocket and handed over a cream-colored envelope with a heavy lavender seal.
“From her who you fancied was my wife,” he explained, enjoying her confusion. “Ernestine Christian, one of our ‘family.’ She does not start her season until January, but then she’s going to tell you all that. You’ll have to drive fast to be on time, for you’re to take tea with her at half after four. And don’t forget two things: First, you sang the aria in five-and-ten-cent style; and, secondly, you’re a nice apple-cheeked kiddie and deserve splendid things!” He waved her out jocularly, and she found herself going through the anterooms reading the note and not speaking to the secretary.
All it said was:
Thurley Precore—
Come take tea with me at half-past four. Bliss says we are to know each other.
Ernestine Christian.