THE OTHER LADY
"By the merest chance," I observed meditatively, "I attended a
reception last night."
"I went to three," said Lady Mickleham, selecting a sardine
sandwich with care.
"I might not have gone," I mused, "I might easily not have gone."
"I can't see what difference it would have made if you hadn't,"
said she.
"I thought three times about going. It's a curious world."
"What happened? You may smoke, you know."
"I fell in love," said I, lighting a cigarette.
Lady Mickleham placed her feet on the fender--it was a chilly
afternoon--and turned her face to me, shielding it from the fire
with her handkerchief.
"Men of your age," she remarked, "have no business to be thinking
of such things."
"I was not thinking of it," said I. "I was thinking of going
home. Then I was introduced to her."
"And you stayed a little, I suppose?"
"I stayed two hours--or two minutes,--I forget which"; and, I
added, nodding my head at Lady Mickleham, "There was something
irresistible about me last night."
Lady Mickleham laughed.
"You seem very pleased with yourself," she said, reaching for a
fan to replace the handkerchief.
"Yes, take care of your complexion," said I approvingly. "She
has a lovely complexion."
Lady Mickleham laid down the fan.
"I am very pleased with myself," I continued. "She was delighted
with me."
"I suppose you talked nonsense to her."
"I have not the least idea what I talked to her. It was quite
immaterial. The language of the eyes--"
"Oh, you might be a boy!"
"I was," said I, nodding again.
There was a long silence. Dolly looked at me; I looked at the
fire. I did not, however, see the fire. I saw something quite
different.
"She liked me very much," I observed, stretching my hands out
toward the blaze.
"You absurd old man!--" said Dolly. "Was she very charming?"
"She was perfect."
"How? Clever?"
I waved my hand impatiently.
"Pretty, Mr. Carter?"
"Why, of course; the prettiest picture I ever--but that goes
without saying."
"It would have gone better without saying," remarked Dolly.
"Considering--"
To have asked "Considering what?" would have been the acme of bad
taste.
I merely smiled, and waved my hand again.
"You're quite serious about it, aren't you?" said Dolly.
"I should think I was," said I indignantly. "Not to be serious
in such a matter is to waste it utterly."
"I'll come to the wedding," said Dolly.
"There won't be a wedding," said I. "There are Reasons."
"Oh! You're very unlucky, Mr. Carter."
"That," I observed, "is as it may be, Lady Mickleham."
"Were the Reasons at the reception?"
"They were. It made no difference."
"It's very curious," remarked Dolly with a compassionate air,
"that you always manage to admire people whom somebody else has
married."
"It would be very curious," I rejoined, "if somebody had not
married the people whom I admire. Last night, though, I made
nothing of his sudden removal; my fancy rioted in accidental
deaths for him."
"He won't die," said Dolly.
"I hate that sort of superstition," said I irritably. "He's just
as likely to die as any other man is."
"He certainly won't die," said Dolly.
"Well, I know he won't. Do let it alone," said I, much
exasperated. It was probably only kindness, but Dolly suddenly
turned her eyes away from me and fixed them on the fire; she took
the fan up again and twirled it in her hand; a queer little smile
bent her lips.
"I hope the poor man won't die," said Dolly in a low voice.
"If he had died last night!" I cried longingly. Then, with a
regretful shrug of my shoulders, I added, "Let him live now to
the crack of doom!"
Somehow this restored my good humor. I rose and stood with my
back to the fire, stretching myself and sighing luxuriously.
Dolly leant back in her chair and laughed at me.
"Do you expect to be forgiven?" she asked.
"No, no," said I; "I had too good an excuse."
"I wish I'd been there--at the reception, I mean."
"I'm extremely glad you weren't, Lady Mickleham. As it was I
forgot all my troubles."
Dolly is not resentful; she did not mind the implied description.
She leant back, smiling still. I sighed again, smiled at Dolly,
and took my hat. Then I turned to the mirror over the
mantelpiece, arranged my necktie, and gave my hair a touch.
"No one," I observed, "can afford to neglect the niceties of the
toilet. Those dainty little curls on the forehead--"
"You've had none there for ten years," cried Lady Mickleham.
"I did not mean my forehead," said I.
Sighing once again, I held out my hand to Dolly.
"Are you doing anything this evening?" she asked.
"That depends on what I'm asked to do," said I cautiously.
"Well, Archie's going to be at the House, and I thought you might
take me to the Phaetons' party. It's quite a long drive, a
horrible long drive, Mr. Carter."
I stood for a moment considering this proposal.
"I don't think," said I, "that it would be proper."
"Why, Archie suggested it! You're making an excuse. You know
you are!" and Lady Mickleham looked very indignant. "As if," she
added scornfully, "you cared about what was proper!"
I dropped into a chair, and said, in a confidential tone, "I
don't care a pin. It was a mere excuse. I don't want to come."
"You're very rude, indeed. Many women would never speak to you
again."
"They would," said I, "all do just as you will."
"And what's that, Mr. Carter."
"Ask me again on the first opportunity."
"Why won't you come?" said Dolly, waiving this question.
I bent forward, holding my hat in my left hand and sawing the air
with my right forefinger.
"You fail to allow," said I impressively, "for the rejuvenescence
which recent events have produced in me. If I came with you this
evening, I should be quite capable--" I paused.
"Of anything dreadful?" asked Dolly.
"Of paying you pronounced attentions," said I gravely.
"That," said Dolly with equal gravity, "would be very
regrettable. It would be unjust to me--and very insulting to
her, Mr. Carter."
"It would be the finest testimonial to her," I cried.
"And you'll spend the evening thinking of her?" asked Dolly.
"I shall go through the evening," said I, "in the best way I
can." And I smiled contentedly.
"What's her husband?" asked Dolly suddenly.
"Her husband," I rejoined, "is nothing at all."
Dolly, receiving this answer, looked at me with a pathetic air.
"It's not quite fair," she observed. "Do you know what I'm
thinking about, Mr. Carter?"
"Certainly I do, Lady Mickleham. You are thinking that you would
like to meet me for the first time."
"Not at all. I was thinking that it would be amusing if you met
me for the first time."
I said nothing. Dolly rose and walked to the window. She swung
the tassel of the blind and it bumped against the window. The
failing sun caught her ruddy brown hair. There were curls on her
forehead, too.
"It's a grand world," said I. "And, after all, one can grow old
very gradually."
"You're not really old," said Dolly, with the fleetest glance at
me. A glance should not be over-long.
"Gradually and disgracefully," I murmured.
"If you met me for the first time--" said Dolly, swinging the
tassel.
"By Heaven, it should be the last!" I cried, and I rose to my
feet.
Dolly let the tassel go, and made me a very pretty curtsey.
"I am going to another party tonight," said I, nodding my head
significantly.
"Ah!" said Dolly.
"And I shall again," I pursued, "spend my time with the prettiest
woman in the room."
"Shall you?" asked Dolly, smiling.
"I am a very fortunate fellow," I observed. "And as for Mrs.
Hilary, she may say what she likes."
"Oh, does Mrs. Hilary know the Other Lady?"
I walked toward the door.
"There is," said I, laying my hand on the door, "no Other Lady."
"I shall get there about eleven," said Dolly.
