“He hadn’t got our letters then, poor fellow!” said Imogen, who, fortunately, was not of a jealous disposition. “So if he made ever such a little swerve from what is called the path of duty I suppose I must forgive him. You won’t do so again, sir, I’ll see to that!”
“I hope you and Miss Claremont will be great friends. She is just the sort of woman you would like. I’ll make a point of introducing you at the Polo Ball. Here are the tickets, and a few to spare.”
“You have been most generous,” said Mrs. Bruce. “I’ll keep three for Edward, myself, and a friend, if one turns up. I daresay we shall find one or two.”
“No, take half; I bought them for the family. Perhaps some of the Upper Sturt people may turn up.”
“Quite likely,” said Imogen; “perhaps even from Bunjil! Oh, dear! what fun that would be!”
“I know what you are laughing at,” said her sister. “Do you see her joke, Val?”
“Not in the least. Let us share it, Mrs. Bruce.”
“It is a good joke,” said that merry matron, going off again into fits of laughter; “but I shall not tell you just yet. It is a secret.”
The male relative looked puzzled, admitting that the solution was beyond him; at which stage it seemed destined to remain.