Even so
much was, however, more than welcome, including as it did a smooth white
neck, a small shell-like ear, and a mass of warm, crinkly, red-brown
hair. She wore a rose-colored gown, I noticed, cut low, with a string of
pearls; and her sole escort was a staid, elderly, precise being, rather
of the trusted family-lawyer type.
"I haven't missed a word, Dunny," I assured my vis-a-vis. "I was just
wondering if Huns and pirates had quite a neutral sound. You know I have
to go via Rome to spend a week with Jack Herriott. He has been pestering
me for a good two years--ever since he's been secretary there."
Grumbling unintelligible things, my guardian sampled his Chablis; and I,
crumbling bread, lazily wishing I could get a front view of the girl in
rose-color, filled the pause by rambling on.
"Duty calls me," I declared. "You see, I was born in France. Shabby
treatment on my parents' part I've always thought it; if they had
hurried home before the event I might have been President and declared
war here instead of hunting one across the seas. In that case, Dunny,
I should have heeded your plea and stayed; but since I'm ineligible for
chief executive, why linger on this side?"
He scowled blackly.
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