Mumsie seemed amused at this, and Ethel Bassett grinned broadly. After this last delivery the lady with a few more gushes shook hands with us all and beamed upon Ethel and me. Possibly this was by way of recompense for her earlier slight.
Mrs. Mount seems a woman of whims; no doubt is of a nervous disposition. At the rink only two days ago she was, I am sure, on the verge of declaring herself my friend. To-day she announces she is off to Europe and treats me as if she had never seen me before.
I waited until soup was finished at dinner to-night ere I thanked Mr. Bang for his good offices. “Possibly you have more than that to thank him for,” suggested Mumsie.
“I have thanked him for the skins,” I replied.
“Possibly there is something else,” she added.
I looked at my benefactor but his face was inscrutable. He evidently had no desire to have this line of conversation pursued, for he put in:
“Mrs. Malone is one of the few women in this city for whom I have a regard.”
“Oh!” I said. I couldn’t help it. A man has no right suddenly to make that sort of statement.
“She has had a hard time of it,” cried Uncle, “drunken husband—one of the old families—and has been forced to fight her way by writing trash for the society columns,——”
“Mrs. Malone is a good friend, and a good woman, and you know you always read the social columns,” asserted Mumsie interrupting her husband.