"Oh, utter nonsense," said I.
"And you had to write the truth!"
"Yes, I had to write some of it."
"And nonsense can't be the truth, can it, Mr. Carter?"
"Of course it can't, Lady Mickleham."
"Where are you going, Mr. Carter?" she asked; for I rose from my
chair.
"To have a quiet smoke," said I.
"Alone?" asked Dolly.
"Yes, alone," said I.
I walked towards the door. Dolly stood by the table fingering
the album. I had almost reached the door; then I happened to
look round.
"Mr. Carter!" said Dolly, as though a new idea had struck her.
"What is it, Lady Mickleham?"
"Well, you know, Mr. Carter, I--I shall try to forget that
mistake of yours."
"You're very kind, Lady Mickleham."
"But," said Dolly with a troubled smile, "I--I'm quite afraid I
shan't succeed, Mr. Carter."
After all, the smoking room is meant for smoking.
AN UNCOUNTED HOUR
We were standing, Lady Mickleham and I, at a door which led from
the morning room to the terrace at The Towers. I was on a visit
to the historic pile (by Vanbrugh--out of the money accumulated
by the third Earl--Paymaster to the Forces--temp. Queen Anne).
The morning room is a large room. Archie was somewhere in it.
Lady Mickleham held a jar containing pate de foie gras; from time
to time she dug a piece out with a fork and flung the morsel to a
big retriever which was sitting on the terrace.
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