and Captain Dillington are such great friends that I want to ask you if he likes me?"
There was no coquetry veiled in this question. I sincerely wished to know how I stood (to use a commercial expression) with the bosom friend of my affianced husband.
Arthur Ravener positively started at my question. For a few seconds he seemed unable to answer.
"I—I am sure he does," he stammered at last. "Yes, Elsie, Captain Dillington does like you. I—I am sure of it. Set your mind at rest."
"Pooh!" said I, inelegantly, feeling that Richard was himself again. "My mind is quite at rest. I'm not going to marry you both, you know"—a remark that was neither pretty nor funny, but vulgar. My carriage had been announced and Arthur was fastening my "sortie de bal" around me. In the hall stood Captain Dillington. He bowed and then extended his hand to me.
"May I congratulate you, Miss Bouverie?" he asked.
