“Oh, there were not many of the aristocracy present,” said I soothingly. “But it’s not that so much as the thing itself. She’s the most disgraceful flirt in London.” “How do you know she was flirting?” I inquired with a smile. “How do I know?” echoed Mrs. Hilary. “It is a very hasty conclusion,” I persisted. “Sometimes I stay talking with you for an hour or more. Are you, therefore, flirting with me?” “With you!” exclaimed Mrs. Hilary, with a little laugh. “Absurd as the supposition is,” I remarked, “it yet serves to point the argument. Lady Mickleham might have been talking with a friend, just in the quiet rational way in which we are talking now.” “I don’t think that’s likely,” said Mrs. Hilary; and--well, I do not like to say that she sniffed--it would convey too strong an idea, but she did make an odd little sound something like a much etherealized sniff. I smiled again, and more broadly. I was enjoying beforehand the little victory which I was to enjoy over Mrs. Hilary. “Yet it happens to be true,” said I. Mrs. Hilary was magnificently contemptuous. “Lord Mickleham told you so, I suppose?” she asked. “And I suppose Lady Mickleham told him--poor man!” “Why do you call him ‘poor man’?” “Oh, never mind. Did he tell you?” “Certainly not. The fact is, Mrs. Hilary--and really, you must excuse me for having kept you in the dark a little--it amused me so much to hear your suspicions.” Mrs. Hilary rose to her feet. “Well, what are you going to say?” she asked. I laughed, as I answered: “Why, I was the man with Lady Mickleham when your friend and Berry inter--when they arrived, you know.” Well, I should have thought--I should still think--that she would have been pleased--relieved, you know, to find her uncharitable opinion erroneous, and pleased to have it altered on the best authority. I’m sure that is how I should have felt. It was not, however, how Mrs. Hilary felt. “I am deeply pained,” she observed after a long pause; and then she held out her hand. “I was sure you’d forgive my little deception,” said I, grasping it. I thought still that she meant to bury all unkindness. “I should never have thought it of you,” she went on. “I didn’t know your friend was there at all,” I pleaded; for by now I was alarmed. “Oh, please don’t shuffle like that,” said Mrs. Hilary. She continued to stand, and I rose to my feet. Mrs. Hilary held out her hand again. “Do you mean that I’m to go?” said I. “I hope we shall see you again some day,” said Mrs. Hilary; the tone suggested that she was looking forward to some future existence, when my earthly sins should have been sufficiently purged. It reminded me for the moment of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere. “But I protest,” I began, “that my only object in telling you was to show you how absurd--” “Is it any good talking about it now?” asked Mrs. Hilary. A discussion might possibly be fruitful in the dim futurity before mentioned--but not now--that was what she seemed to say.