“And Etta has got hold of some wild tale about you,” he went on. “I don’t like to speak to you about it, dear--it’s all a stupid bottomless impertinence--but, of course, I had to tell her I’d ask you.”
“You may ask me anything you like, Horace.”
“Thank you, darling! Do you know I always thought you were awfully sensible, but I never knew how sensible you were before to-night.”
Edith gave a long, low laugh.
“Sensible? I’m so glad you think I’m sensible, Horace!” she murmured.
“Yes, I do,” he said with admiring emphasis. “I think you’re the most sensible woman I ever met.”
Edith stopped laughing.
“And the story, Horace?”
“Well, were you ever on the Lake of Como staying with rather an odd person--ten years ago?” he began. He had released her hands now and sat looking red and foolish and staring in front of him. Edith leaned back in her chair and regarded him with a twinkle in her eye.
“Yes,” she said, “I was. I stayed at Bellagio ten years ago with my aunt and her maid--”