“Why not?” I demanded. Why should this beast of a man interfere with me and my joys and ambitions?
“Because,” and he looked at me with the most exasperating smile I have ever seen on a man’s face, “I can arrange it—I can ask Mrs. Malone.”
I gasped and then I wilted. I hope I did not display the anger I had felt.
“That would do nicely,” agreed Mumsie. “Good idea.”
Whatever I had done or whatever misdirected temper I displayed, I must see it through, so I asked, with what I hoped was a sincere smile:
“That would be so kind of you Mr. Bang, but who is Mrs. Malone that she does as you wish?”
“Mrs. Malone happens to be the society editress of the Telegraph, and when she suggests a social favour it is generally acted upon.” He was certainly frank enough and natural. “Besides, something you may well be excused for not knowing, Mrs. Lien clapped eyes on me the other day. If I mistake not she knows I am your fellow guest, and if Auntie asks an invitation for you, it will carry with it a suggestion for me, which I don’t want at any cost. Mrs. Malone will discreetly acquaint Mrs. Lien with the fact that I leave for Toronto on New Year’s Eve.”
Mr. Bang was more good natured at the close of his big speech, but did the world ever know such another man?
No more was said, and Mr. Bang went with Uncle to town; I to my room. About lunch-time the telephone rang and Mumsie was told by Mrs. Lien that an invitation for me was on the way.
In the afternoon I walked out with Mumsie and we ended up at the Queen Charlotte tea-rooms. Whom should we meet there but Mrs. Bassett and Ethel? Of course we joined them. In two minutes Mrs. Bassett was pouring out a tale of woe about her cook who was Scotch and untidy. The standard topic of respectable society seems to be the servant question.