“I came up North with Jim,” she replied.
“You should have let me know,” he said. “You know Jim never writes any one. This is the first time I’ve been here. I’m just back from the country. Where’s your box—that is, who are you with?”
“I’m here with my maid,” said Angelica, with a somewhat conscious dignity. “Jim is with the horses.”
Livingstone looked from the slender girl to the substantial Caroline, and the corners of his mouth twitched.
“I prefer to be alone this way,” she explained. “It’s more independent.”
Mr. Livingstone thought a moment. “Of course that’s so,” he said. “But I think I’ve got a better plan; let’s hunt up Mrs. Dicky Everett.”
“Is she an old woman?” asked Angelica.
“Not so terribly old,” said Mr. Livingstone. “I suppose you’d call her middle-aged.”
“Thirty?” asked Angelica.
“Near it, I’m afraid,” he answered.