Aunt Loses

ILLUSTRATED BY A. WALLIS MILLS

HE worst of the country," said he, staring gloomily at the rain which swept across the lawn on to the windows, "is that, when there's nothing to do, there's nothing else to do."

"London's different," she yawned or sighed—or mixed the processes.

"Let's go there! It's only about four o'clock; we could get there, dine, dance, and be back by midnight—or midnightish, anyhow."

"And Aunt?"

"She's in bed. At least she said so—I mean, her maid"

"Oh, it's true—but not final. If she finds I'm out"

"She'll get out? And, of course, it'll get out!"

"Oh, get out yourself!" she moaned.

"But why not London? More cheerful than corpsing here!"

"Is that how you'd describe your afternoon with me?"

"It's just as you'd describe it yourself, you know—don't try to score! Let's go to London."

"I don't admire you enough to go to London with you."

"Well, I'm!"

"Sorry, old thing. Standard's high there, you know. Do make room for my feet on the fender; even yours needn't take up all of it."

"These high fenders are a bit risky with those short However you seem to have got there—moderately intact. Why don't you admire me enough to go to London with?"

"Has it ever struck you that you're not very good-looking?"

"Man to man, it has! Florid?"

"Crimson!"

"And you?"

"Features irregular—but attractive!"

"What more could any girl want? But are you sure of the latter article?"

"How can I be, if you go on looking out of the window?"

"How can I look out of the window with my feet on the fender?"

"You do manage it somehow. Right past me! Without a lingering glance!"

"Anything to oblige! I'm looking now—face, I mean, not—er—feet."

"I'm getting on! What time is it?"

"What the devil does it matter—unless you're coming to London?"

"I'm not coming to London. What time is it?"

"Five-and-twenty to five—if you must know."

"Oh, yes, I must. Aunt gets up at five."

"Is that why you won't come to London?"

"Partly. What do you see—now you are looking—face, not—er—feet, you know?"

"Well, what was it you said about yourself just now?"

"Irregular, but attractive. Features, course, not"

"Not what?"

"Men friends! Rather had you there, hadn't I? But you're too easy! What time is it?"

"Look at the clock for yourself—there—above your feet."

"Twenty to! Well, shall we get a move on?"

"Girl of girls! I'll order the car!"

"I don't mean a move to London. You can go by yourself—if you want to."

"Won't you miss me?"

"Not unless something happens to remind of me of you."

"Something like what?"

"Something like a fender with room for my feet."

"Better have two fenders, hadn't we?"

"Where? In this room?"

"No, presently—in another. It's a quarter to."

"You seem to be looking at the clock too!"

"What odds did Aunt give you?"

"I'm almost inclined to go to London, after all! You're so clever!"

"So's Aunt—I never knew a woman go to bed so artfully. A beastly wet day!"

"Road to London beastly skiddish"

"When I proposed to you before"

"Before what?"

"Before I did this time. I mean, before I didn't—before I don't—oh, hang, I wish you'd move your feet!"

"All right. There you are—on the floor! Ten to, isn't it? What did you say about two fenders? Yours off, too! Poor fender!"

"Are you trying to say that you're—sorry?"

"I don't know about that. Aunt said that when once a girl had thrown away"

"What? What have you thrown away?"

"Is it a trip to London? You seem to have found something else to do! I really didn't mean you to kiss me."

"Well, your manner was rather ambiguous. And Country's not so bad, after all, is it?"

"Pretty tone that clock has—striking five! Aunt gave me five to one about it! Time limit—one hour!"

"And you've just brought it of!! Splendid! I say, you are!"

"Something else to do in the country? Worth while?"

"Lots!"

"So it seems! Stop! One from me? Two? Three? There! Stop! Stairs creaking! Aunt! And a fiver!"

"Hard-earned?"

"Very!"

"A cocktail?"

"Yes! I'm rather—aren't you? "

"Yes! Excited!"