"Shall we walk on the terrace?" I suggested.

"Oh, yes, let's," said Dolly, stepping out, and putting on a
broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat, which she caught up from a chair
hard by. "It isn't Mrs. Hilary?" she added, sitting down on a
garden seat.

"No," said I, leaning on a sundial which stood by the seat.

"Well, what is it?"

"It is simple," said I, "and serious. It is not, therefore, like
you, Lady Mickleham."

"It's like Mrs. Hilary," said Dolly.

"No; because it isn't pleasant. By the way, you are jealous of
Mrs. Hilary?"

Dolly said nothing at all. She took off her hat, roughened her
hair a little, and assumed an effective pose. Still, it is a
fact (for what it is worth) that she doesn't care much about
Mrs. Hilary.

"The discovery," I continued, "is that I'm growing middle-aged."

"You are middle-aged," said Dolly, spearing her hat with its long
pin.