"Not more than yours," said I. "You used to meet Hilary on the
pier when your father wasn't there--you told me so."

"Father had authorized my acquaintance with Hilary."

"I hate quibbles," said I.

There was a pause. Mrs. Hilary stitched; Hilary observed that
the day was fine.

"Now," I pursued carelessly, "even Miss Phyllis here has been
known to deceive her parents."

"Oh, let the poor child alone, anyhow," said Mrs. Hilary.

"Haven't you?" said I to Miss Phyllis.

I expected an indignant denial. So did Mrs. Hilary, for she
remarked with a sympathetic air:

"Never mind his folly, Phyllis dear."

"Haven't you, Miss Phyllis?" said I.

Miss Phyllis grew very red. Fearing that I was causing her pain,
I was about to observe on the prospects of a Dissolution when a
shy smile spread over Miss Phyllis's face.

"Yes, once," said she with a timid glance at Mrs. Hilary, who
immediately laid down her embroidery.