I spread out my hands and observed blandly:
"Why not be guided--as to the others, I mean--by your husband's
example?"
"Archie's example? What's that?"
"I don't know; but you do, I suppose."
"What do you mean, Mr. Carter?" she asked, sitting upright.
"Well, has he ever told you about Maggie Adeane?"
"I never heard of her."
"Or Lilly Courtenay?"
"That girl!"
"Or Alice Layton?"
"The red-haired Layton?"
"Or Florence Cunliffe?"
"Who was she?"
"Or Millie Trehearne?"
"She squints, Mr. Carter."
"Or--"
"Stop, stop! What do you mean? What should he tell me?"
"Oh, I see he hasn't. Nor, I suppose, about Sylvia Fenton, or
that little Delancy girl, or handsome Miss--what was her name?"
"Hold your tongue--and tell me what you mean."
"Lady Mickleham," said I gravely, "if your husband has not
thought fit to mention these ladies--and others whom I could
name--to you, how could I presume--?"
"Do you mean to tell me that Archie--?"
"He'd only known you three years, you see."
"Then it was before--?"
"Some of them were before," said I.
Lady Mickleham drew a long breath.
"Archie will be in soon," said she.
I took my hat.
"It seems to me," I observed, "that what is sauce--that, I should
say, husband and wife ought to stand on an equal footing in these
matters.
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