"Come from, indeed," laughed Fanny. "He's a positive Peer of the Realm, and baths, my dear, every morning in the Fount of Honours. You wouldn't be so flippant if ... hallo! what's this? A letter—addressed to Me! Where on earth did this come from?"
Heels to head, a sudden heat swept over me. "Oh," said I hollowly, "that's nothing, Fanny. Only a little joke. And now you are here—— But surely," I hurried on, "you don't really like that starched-up creature?"
But Fanny was holding up my envelope between both her thumbs and forefingers, and steadily smiling at me, over its margin. "A joke, Midgetina; and one of your very own. How exciting. And how bulgy. May I open it? I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Please, Fanny, I have changed my mind. Let me have it. I don't feel like jokes now."
"But honestly, I do. Some jokes have such a deliciously serious side. Besides, as you have just come in, why didn't this go out with you?" To which I replied stubbornly that it was not her letter; that I had thought better of it; and that she had no right to question me if I didn't want to answer.
"I see." Her voice had glided steadily up the scale of suavity. "It's a bit more of the dead past, is it? And you don't like the—the fragrance. But surely, if we are really talking about rights—and, according to my experience, there are none too many of them knocking about in this world—surely I have the right to ask what pulpy mysteries are enclosed in an envelope addressed to me in what appears to be a feigned ca—calligraphy? Look. I am putting the thing on the floor so that we shall be on—well—fairly equal terms. Even your sensitive Sukie could not be more considerate than that, could she? All I want to know is, what's inside that envelope? If you refuse to say, well and good. I shall retire to my maidenly couch and feed on the blackest suppositions."
It was a cul-de-sac; and the only thing to do was to turn back boldly and get out of it.
"Well, Fanny; I have told you that I thought better of sending it. But I am not ashamed. Even if I am wrong, I suppose you are at liberty to have your little jokes too, and so is Percy Maudlen. It's a letter, torn up; that's all."
"A letter—so I guessed. Who from?"
I gazed at her silently.