"Two's company," I said, in a tone of voice that was meant to indicate something of what I felt.
"So's three," said Dolly, laughing, "if the third doesn't count."
"Quod est demonstrandum."
"Well, it's like this. I observed that you've already published twenty or so 'Dolly Dialogues.'" (The dimples at this period were absolutely bewitching, but I controlled myself.) "So it occurred to me that it was my turn to earn an honest penny. Allow me to introduce you. Mr. Brown, Mr. Carter—Mr. Carter, Mr. Brown."
I murmured that any friend of Lady Mickleham's was a friend of mine, whereat Mr. Brown smiled affably and handed me his card, from which I gathered that he was a shorthand writer at some address in Chancery Lane. Then I understood it all. I had exploited Dolly. Dolly was now engaged in the process of exploiting me.
"I hope," I observed rather icily, "that you will choose a respectable paper."
"You don't mean that."
"Perhaps not. But if we are to have a Dialogue, perhaps we might begin. I have an engagement at six."
"Telegraph, and put the contents down to my account."