“Are you fond of her?”
“Yes,” said Bernard, composedly. “I am.”
Dolly shrugged her shoulders. “I hope it will turn out well.”
“Hope so, too,” said Bernard. “She ought to take me simply out of gratitude. Anything more beastly than tea with this cold beef I never did taste!”
On the morrow, while Dolly was sweeping her room out, Maggie came up, gasping, to announce “Miss Lawson”; she had a happy knack of confounding names. It was, in truth, Angela, driven up by the pair of donkeys, as Ella Merton said, though only one was in the shafts. Mrs. Merton herself would not come in, because, she declared, Jehoshaphat would eat the reins if he were left. Jehoshaphat had a satanic temper and was more completely omnivorous than an ostrich; beside devouring reins and boots and tin-tacks, he had a craving for any human flesh except that of his mistress, an exception which Ella triumphantly adduced in support of her self-bestowed name, since, said she, dog doesn’t eat dog.
Therefore Angela was alone in the parlour when Dolly came down; rather hot, in a faded old dress: Angela, very cool and dainty in white muslin, now feeling that the advantage of appearance had fallen to her. Yet, in spite of her dress and her daintiness, she was still like a delicate sketch by the side of a beautiful painting.
“I’m sorry Mr. Fane isn’t in,” she began, rather stiffly. Angela could not approve of Dolly, and would not pretend that she did.
“The regret will be all on his side. Won’t you sit down?” quoth Dolly, very polite.
“I’m afraid I can’t stay, I am keeping Mrs. Merton. May I leave a message for him?”