Meanwhile Dalrymple is devoured with curiosity as to what this earnest
conversation can be about. He has listened patiently to Lady Anne, who
has gone through all the books she has read lately, arguing on their
merits and demerits, and now she is enlarging on the degenerating
manners of the rising generation.

Jimmy puts in a 'Yes' or 'No,' or 'I quite agree with you,' every now
and then, but for aught he knows he may be agreeing that red's white,
and white is black. But at last he says something that does not suit
Lady Anne for she says, 'Do you really mean to say you do?'

Jimmy feels caught; what in the name of fortune _does_ he really mean to
say, he has not the faintest idea, so he says--

'I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid I did not quite hear what you said,
I--er have rather a bad headache.' (Oh Jimmy, Jimmy).

'Have you?' replies Lady Anne. 'I hope it is not a very bad one, you
ought to have stayed at home; the best thing of course to do is to lie
down; and have you ever tried Menthol, white stuff that you rub on your
forehead; and then there is a certain kind of powder, I can't remember
what they are called. Ah! I have it,' and Lady Anne who has been
fumbling in her pocket produces a salts bottle. 'There,' she says, 'I
have nothing else to offer you.'

'Thanks very much,' says Dalrymple, and feeling bound to use it, takes a
vigorous sniff, but it is strong and proves too much for him, for he is
seized with a violent choking.