“I should not be afraid to do that,” Millicent retorted defiantly.
“I should like to be there when it happened.” Mrs. Loring’s tone expressed the most offhand incredulity in the affair being ever definitely settled. There was a silence as they approached and discovered my presence.
Now, I had never been in the least resentful of Mrs. Loring Chatterton’s self-arrogated responsibility for my welfare and Millicent’s—it had always been too open and frank to be regarded as interference. But in that moment she had given me a hint that I felt half inclined to act upon. Suppose she really were there when it happened?
I rose to meet them.
“Welcome, dear ladies,” I said. “You almost caught me napping. I believe I have been dreaming, and seemed to hear voices.”
I looked at Millicent, and thought she understood; but it did not occur to Mrs. Loring that I might have overheard.
“You dream a good deal nowadays, Mr. Butterfield, don’t you?” she said, somewhat acidulously.
“I fear, Mrs. Loring,” I replied, “that I have lately done it to an extent that is almost criminal.”
She was still unenlightened, but I saw that Millicent guessed. I made places for them on either side of me, but Mrs. Loring hesitated, standing. No chance is too trivial for a matchmaker.
“Sit down, Mrs. Loring,” I said, making myself comfortable just out of the sun.