'Oh, but let me hear! It's nothing about Archie, is it?'
'No. I've told you all Archie's sins.'
'Nor Mrs. Hilary? I wish it was Mrs. Hilary!'
'Shall we walk on the terrace?' I suggested.
'Oh, yes, let's,' said Dolly, stepping out, and putting on a broad-brimmed low-crowned hat, which she caught up from a chair hard by. 'It isn't Mrs. Hilary?' she added, sitting down on a garden seat.
'No,' said I, leaning on a sun-dial which stood by the seat.
'Well, what is it?'
'It is simple,' said I, 'and serious. It is not, therefore, like you. Lady Mickleham.'
'It's like Mrs. Hilary,' said Dolly.
'No; because it isn't pleasant. By the way, are you jealous of Mrs. Hilary?'
Dolly said nothing at all. She took off her hat, roughened her hair a little, and assumed an effective pose. Still, it is a fact (for what it is worth) that she doesn't care much about Mrs. Hilary.
'The discovery,' I continued, 'is that I'm growing middle-aged.'
'You are middle-aged,' said Dolly, spearing her hat with its long pin.
I was, very naturally, nettled at this.
'So will you be soon,' I retorted.
'Not soon,' said Dolly.
'Some day,' I insisted.
After a pause of about half a minute Dolly said, 'I suppose so.'
