"Quite right," said I. "Poor old things! They can't afford proper fuel."She rose to her feet.
"I was not joking," she said with horrible severity.
"Neither was I," I declared in humble apology. "Didn't you say blankets?'""Pamphlets."
"Oh!"
There was a long pause. I glanced at Mrs. Hilary. Things had not fallen out as happily as they might, but I did not mean to give up yet.
"I see you're right," I said, still humbly. "To descend to such means as I had in my mind is--""To throw away our true weapons," said she earnestly. (She sat down again--good sign.)"What we really need--" I began.
"Is a reform of the upper classes," said she.
"Let them give an example of duty, of self-denial, of frugality."I was not to be caught out again.
"Just what I always say," I observed, impressively.
"Let them put away their horse racing, their betting, their luxurious living, their--""You're right, Miss Milton," said I.
"Let them set an example of morality."
"They should," I assented.
Miss Milton smiled.
"I thought we agreed really," said she.
"I'm sure we do," cried I; and I winked with my "off" eye at Mrs.
Hilary as I sat down beside Miss Milton.
"Now I heard of a man the other day," said she, "who's nearly 40.
He's got an estate in the country. He never goes there, except for a few days' shooting. He lives in town. He spends too much.
He passes an absolutely vacant existence in a round of empty gaiety. He has by no means a good reputation. He dangles about, wasting his time and his money. Is that the sort of example--?""He's a traitor to his class," said I warmly.
"If you want him, you must look on a race course, or at a tailor's, or in some fashionable woman's boudoir. And his estate looks after itself. He's too selfish to marry, too idle to work, too silly to think."I began to be sorry for this man, in spite of his peccadilloes.
"I wonder if I've met him," said I. "I'm occasionally in town, when I can get time to run up. What's his name?""I don't think I heard--or I've forgotten. But he's got the place next to a friend of mine in the country, and she told me all about him. She's exactly the opposite sort of person--or she wouldn't be my friend.""I should think not, Miss Milton," said I admiringly.
"Oh, I should like to meet that man, and tell him what I think of him!" said she. "Such men as he do more harm than a dozen agitators. So contemptible, too!""It's revolting to think of," said I.
"I'm so glad you--" began Miss Milton, quite confidentially; Ipulled my chair a trifle closer, and cast an apparently careless glance towards Mrs. Hilary. Suddenly I heard a voice behind me.
"Eh, what? Upon my honor it is! Why, Carter, my boy, how are you? Eh, what? Miss Milton, too, I declare! Well, now, what a pity Annie didn't come!"I disagreed. I hate Annie. But I was very glad to see my friend and neighbor, Robert Dinnerly. He's a sensible man--his wife's a little prig.
"Oh, Mr. Dinnerly," cried Miss Milton, "how funny that you should come just now? I was just trying to remember the name of a man Mrs. Dinnerly told me about. I was telling Mr. Carter about him.
You know him."
"Well, Miss Milton, perhaps I do. Describe him.""I don't believe Annie ever told me his name, but she was talking about him at our house yesterday.""But I wasn't there, Miss Milton."
"No," said Miss Milton, "but he's got the next place to yours in the country."I positively leaped from my seat.
"Why, good gracious, Carter himself, you mean?" cried Dinnerly, laughing. "Well, that is a good un--ha-ha-ha!"She turned a stony glare on me.
"Do you live next to Mr. Dinnerly in the country?" she asked.
I would have denied it if Dinnerly had not been there. As it was, I blew my nose.
"I wonder," said Miss Milton, "what has become of Aunt Emily.""Miss Milton," said I, "by a happy chance you have enjoyed a luxury. You have told the man what you think of him.""Yes," said she; "and I have only to add that he is also a hypocrite."Pleasant, wasn't it? Yet Mrs. Hilary says it was my fault.
That's a woman all over!
