THE TALE OF TWO TELEGRAMS.
ANOTHER DOLLY DIALOGUE.
(By St. Anthony Hope Carter.)
The redeeming feature of the morning batch of letters was a short note from Lady Mickleham. Her ladyship (and Archie) had come back to town, and the note was to say that I might call, in fact that I was to call, that afternoon. It so happened that I had two engagements, which seemed to make that impossible, but I spent a shilling in telegrams, and at 4.30 (the hour Dolly had named) was duly ringing at the Mickleham town mansion.
"I'm delighted you were able to come," was Dolly's greeting.
"I wasn't able," I said; "but I've no doubt that what I said in the two telegrams which brought me here will be put down to your account."
"No one expects truth in a telegram. The Post-Office people themselves wouldn't like it."
Dolly was certainly looking at her very best. Her dimples (everybody has heard of Dolly's Dimples—or is it Dolly Dimple; but after all it doesn't matter) were as delightful as ever. I was just hesitating as to my next move in the Dialogue, which I badly wanted, for I had promised my editor one by the middle of next week. The choice lay between the dimples and a remark that life was, after all, only one prolonged telegram. Just at that moment I noticed for the first time that we were not alone.
Now that was distinctly exasperating, and an unwarrantable breach of an implied contract.