My Aunt Jessica rose, smiling indulgently upon me, as if I were a
spoilt little boy, and took me on to the balcony, while Dora
demurely retired to the bookshelves in the farther room.
"Can't you manage to throw them aside? Poor Dora will be
inconsolable."
I stared at her for a moment and then at Dora's broad back and
sturdy hips. Inconsolable? I can't make out what the good lady
is driving at. If she were a vulgar woman trying to squeeze her
way into society and needed the lubricant of the family
baronetcy, I could understand her eagerness to parade me as her
appanage. But titles in her drawing-room are as common as
tea-cups. And the inconsolability of Dora
"If I did come she would be bored to death," said I.
"She is willing to risk it."
"But why should she seek martyrdom?"
"There is another reason," said my aunt, ignoring my pertinent
question, but glancing at me reassuringly "there is another
reason why it would be well for you to come on this cruise with
us." She sank her voice. "You met Miss Gascoigne in the park
last week--"
"A very charming and kind young lady," said I.
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