“Lady Mickleham and I, on the occasion in question--” I began with dignity. “Pray, spare me,” quote Mrs. Hilary, with much greater dignity. I took my hat. “Shall you be at home as usual on Thursday?” I asked. “I have a great many people coming already,” she remarked. “I can take a hint,” said I. “I wish you’d take warning,” said Mrs. Hilary. “I will take my leave,” said I--and I did, leaving Mrs. Hilary in a tragic attitude in the middle of the room. Never again shall I go out of my way to lull Mrs. Hilary’s suspicions. A day or two after this very trying interview, Lady Mickleham’s victoria happened to stop opposite where I was seated in the park. I went to pay my respects. “Do you mean to leave me nothing in the world,” I asked, just by way of introducing the subject of Mrs. Hilary. “One of my best friends has turned me out of her house on your account.” “Oh, do tell me,” said Dolly, dimpling all over her face. So I told her; I made the story as long as I could for reasons connected with the dimples. “What fun!” exclaimed Dolly. “I told you at the time that a young unmarried person like you ought to be more careful.” “I am just debating,” I observed, “whether to sacrifice you.” “To sacrifice me, Mr. Carter?” “Of course,” I explained; “if I dropped you, Mrs. Hilary would let me come again.” “How charming that would be!” cried Dolly. “You would enjoy her nice serious conversation--all about Hilary!” “She is apt,” I conceded, “to touch on Hilary. But she is very picturesque.” “Oh, yes, she’s handsome,” said Dolly. There was a pause. Then Dolly said, “Well?” “Well?” said I in return. “It is goodbye?” 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 the 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. A VERY DULL AFFAIR