"I'd rather have that little vinaigrette."
"You don't get either. I merely say you stole it. What will happen?"
"Mortimer will hit you with a cleek."
"Not at all. I am an old man. My white hairs protect me. What he will do is to insist on confronting me with you and asking you to deny the foul charge."
"And then?"
"Then you admit it and release him from his engagement."
She sat for a while in silence. I could see that my words had made an impression.
"I think it's a splendid idea. Thank you very much." She rose and moved to the door. "I knew you would suggest something wonderful." She hesitated. "You don't think it would make it sound more plausible if I really took the vinaigrette?" she added, a little wistfully.
"It would spoil everything," I replied, firmly, as I reached for the vinaigrette and locked it carefully in my desk.
She was silent for a moment, and her glance fell on the carpet. That, however, did not worry me. It was nailed down.