“Oh,” said Mr. Cuthbert, “I'll manage that all right. I thought you were going to see the representative of a syndicate at eleven.”
Mr. Shorter, with a sigh, acknowledged this necessity, and escorted Honora gallantly through the office and across the sidewalk to the waiting hansom. Cuthbert got in beside her.
“Jerry's a joker,” he observed as they drove off, “you mustn't mind him.”
“I think he's delightful,” said Honora.
“One wouldn't believe that a man of his size and appearance could be so fond of women,” said Mr. Cuthbert. “He's the greatest old lady-killer that ever breathed. For two cents he would have come with us this morning, and let a five thousand dollar commission go. Do you know Mrs. Shorter?”
“No,” replied Honora. “She looks most attractive. I caught a glimpse of her at the polo that day with you.”
“I've been at her house in Newport ever since. Came down yesterday to try to earn some money,” he continued, cheerfully making himself agreeable. “Deuced clever woman, much too clever for me and Jerry too. Always in a tete-a-tete with an antiquarian or a pathologist, or a psychologist, and tells novelists what to put into their next books and jurists how to decide cases. Full of modern and liberal ideas—believes in free love and all that sort of thing, and gives Jerry the dickens for practising it.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Honora.
Mr. Cuthbert, however, did not appear to realize that he had shocked her.
“By the way,” he asked, “have you seen Cecil Grainger since the Quicksands game?”