“Miss Vint to see you, sir.”
Momentarily wondering whether this might not be some one else who loved him, Philip requested that the lady might be shown in; and there fluttered into the room an elderly lady—small, and thin, and dry-looking; indeed, she gave one the impression, from her appearance, of having lain by unused for a long time, so dusty was her aspect. She had hair of no decided colour, and features of no decided form; and her clothing—even her gloves—were of a neutral tint, as though, from long preservation, whatever of original colour they had possessed had long since faded out of them. But, with something of sprightliness, she came rapidly up to Philip, and seized his hand in both her own.
“My dear Mr. Chater—shall I, under the special circumstances, say—my dear Mr. Dandy?——”
“My dear lady,” replied Philip, lightly—“say what you will.”
“How good of you!” she exclaimed, and squeezed his hand once more. “The dear girl has but just told me all about it; and I hurried over at once, to offer my congratulations——”
“Now I wonder,” thought Philip—“which dear girl she means?”
“For I felt that I must not lose a moment. Madge has not confided in me, as she might have done, and I have had to guess many things for myself. But I must say, Mr. Dandy”—she shook a rallying forefinger at him—“that you are the shyest lover I have ever known.”
“Indeed—I am very sorry—” he began; but she checked him at once.
“Well—we’ll forgive you; only I had been given to understand that you were very different—that’s all. However—that is not what I came to say. Standing in the position I do, as regards Madge, I feel that I must make some formal acknowledgment of the matter. Therefore, I want you to dine with us—let me see—to-morrow night?”
“I shall be delighted,” replied Philip, mechanically. “By the way—what is to-morrow?”