her wavery,
cracked voice, I couldn't see anything funny in it at all.

It's a vague, batty sort of talk we had. Mostly it's a monologue by
her.

"I am quite annoyed," says she, tappin' the chair arm with her thin,
blue-white finger-nails. "My income, you know. It must not be reduced
in this way. You must attend to it at once. Those Inter-Lake
securities. I've depended on those. Mr. Bagstock gave them to me on
our fifth wedding anniversary. Of course, I am not a business woman.
One can't neglect one's social career. But I have always tried to look
after my own securities. My father taught me to do that when I was a
mere girl. So I wrote about my Inter-Lake Navigation shares. Why
should your firm interfere? You say in a few months they will pay as
well. But meanwhile? You see, there are my Wednesdays. I can't give
them up. What would people say? For years that has been my day. No,
no, young man, you must find a way. Tell your firm that I simply must
keep up my Wednesdays."

And, as she stops for breath, it's about the first chance I've had to
spring anything on her. Old Hickory hadn't told me not to use his
name, and was I to blame if he'd overlooked that point?

"Yes'm," says I; "I'll tell Mr. Ellins."

"Who?" says she, steadyin' her wanderin' gaze. "Mr. Ellins?"

"Old Hickory," says I. "He's president of the Corrugated Trust, ma'am."

"Really!" says she. "How odd! I--I used to know a young man of that
name--a pushing, presuming, impudent fellow. In fact, he had the
audacity to call on me several times. He was quite impossible
socially; uncouth, awkward, rough spoken. A mere clerk, I believe.
And I--well, I was rather a belle that season, I suppose. At least, I
did not lack suitors. A brilliant season it was for me too, my first.
Our dinners, receptions, dances, were affairs of importance. How this
raw Middle-Westerner came to be invited I've forgotten. Through my
father, I presume. I had hardly noticed him among so many. At least,
I am sure I never gave him an excuse for thinking that he could-- Oh,
it was outrageous. I had been trying to dance with him and had given
it up. We were in the little conservatory, watching the others,
when--well, I found myself in his arms, crushed there. He--he was
kissing me violently. I suppose I must have screamed before I fainted.
Anyway, there was a scene. He was given his hat and coat, shown the
door. Father was in a rage. Of course,