"No,--that is, you have not been formally introduced," said Dr. Dean." Sir Chetwynd Lyle is the editor and proprietor of the London Daily Dial, Lady Chetwynd Lyle is his wife, and the two elderly-youthful ladies who appeared as 'Boulogne fishwives' last night at the ball are his daughters."
"Cruel man!" exclaimed Lady Fulkeward with a girlish giggle. "The idea of calling those sweet girls, Muriel and Dolly, 'elderly- youthful!'"
"What are they, my dear madam, what are they?" demanded the imperturbable little savant. "'Elderly-youthful' is a very convenient expression, and applies perfectly to people who refuse to be old and cannot possibly be young."
"Nonsense! I will not listen to you!" and her ladyship opened her jewelled fan and spread it before her eyes to completely screen the objectionable Doctor from view. "Don't you know your theories are quite out of date? Nobody is old,--we all utterly refuse to be old! Why," and she shut her fan with a sudden jerk, "I shall have you calling ME old next."
"Never, madam!" said Dr. Dean gallantly laying his hand upon his heart. "You are quite an exception to the rule. You have passed through the furnace of marriage and come out unscathed. Time has done its worst with you, and now retreats, baffled and powerless; it can touch you no more!"
Whether this was meant as a compliment or the reverse it would have been difficult to say, but Lady Fulkeward graciously accepted it as the choicest flattery, and bowed, smiling and gratified. Dinner was now drawing to its end, and people were giving their orders for coffee to be served to them on the terrace and in the gardens, Gervase among the rest. The Doctor turned to him.
"I should like to see your picture of the Princess," he said,-- "that is if you have no objection."
"Not the least in the world," replied Gervase,--"only it isn't the Princess, it is somebody else."
A faint shudder passed over him. The Doctor noticed it.
"Talking of curious things," went on that irrepressible savant, "I started hunting for a particular scarabeus to-day. I couldn't find it, of course,--it generally takes years to find even a trifle that one especially wants. But I came across a queer old man in one of the curiosity-shops who told me that over at Karnak they had just discovered a large fresco in one of the tombs describing the exploits of the very man whose track I'm on--Araxes ..."