'Well?' said I in return.
'Is it good-bye?' asked Dolly, drawing down the corners of her mouth.
'It comes to this,' I remarked. 'Supposing I forgive you'
'As if it was my fault!'
'And risk Mrs. Hilary's wrath—did you speak?'
'No; I laughed, Mr. Carter.'
'What shall I get out of it?'
The sun was shining brightly: it shone on Dolly: she had raised her parasol, but she blinked a little beneath it. She was smiling slightly still, and one dimple stuck to its post—like a sentinel, ready to rouse the rest from their brief repose. Dolly lay back in the victoria, nestling luxuriously against the soft cushions. She turned her eyes for a moment on me.
'Why are you looking at me?' she asked.
'Because,' said I, 'there is nothing better to look at.'
'Do you like doing it?' asked Dolly.
'It is a privilege,' said I politely.
'Well, then!' said Dolly.
'But,' I ventured to observe, 'it's rather an expensive one.'
'Then you mustn't have it very often.'
'And it is shared by so many people.'
'Then,' said Dolly, smiling indulgently, 'you must have it—a little oftener. Home, Roberts, please.'
I am not yet allowed at Mrs. Hilary Musgrave's.
