"Do you think," I asked the Bonnie Lassie, who was sharing my bench one
afternoon as Julien was taking the patroness of Art over to where her
car waited, "that she is doing him as much good as she thinks she is, or
ought to?"

"Malice ill becomes one of your age, Dominie," said the Bonnie Lassie
with dignity.

"I'm quite serious," I protested.

"And very unjust. Bobbie is an adorable little person, when you know
her."

"Does Julien know her well enough to have discovered a self-evident
fact?"

"Only," pursued my companion, ignoring the question, "she is bored and a
little spoiled."

"So she comes down here to escape being bored and to get more spoiled."

"Julien won't spoil her."

"He certainly doesn't appear to bore her."

"She's having the tables turned on her without knowing it. Julien is
doing her a lot of good. Already she's far less beneficent and bountiful
and all that sort of stuff."

"Lassie," said I, "what, if I may so express myself, is the big idea?"