"Absent-mindedness," suggested Cannington. "May we smoke, Mab?"
"Oh, yes, and you can give me a cigarette also, if they're Egyptian. Thanks awfully." She accepted one, and I struck a match for the lighting. "Of course, Dickey Weston is absent-minded and selfish," she continued frankly. "All the same, I love him and I don't mind anyone knowing it."
"Every one does, except Dickey," said I with a shrug.
"It's the truth. After all, I don't see why you need be shy with a man you have known for centuries. Why not go to Dickey and tell him that you want to marry him and go trips in his airship?"
"Dickey would agree, and never know what had happened until he found me breakfasting opposite to him without a chaperon. Well, what's to be done?" She leaned back, and placed her hands behind her head. "Dickey won't ask me to be his wife, and Mr. Marr--who is rich--wants me to marry him right away."
"Do you love Marr, Mabel?" asked Cannington seriously.
"Mabel"--I spoke this time and severely--"you are much too nice a girl to make such a sordid match, and with a man who might be your father. Chuck him, and chuck it, and make Dickey Weston do his duty."
"Which Dickey will be quite willing to do," said Cannington amiably, "especially as he told me that he loved you, Mab."
"Oh," the girl jumped up and with a fine blush threw the half-finished cigarette into the fireplace. "Why didn't you tell me that before, Cannington? I know what I'll do." She reflected for three seconds. "I'll tell Mr. Marr that he shall have his answer as a Christmas box, and meanwhile I'll see if I can't make Dickey jealous. Cannington, you are sure that Dickey said what you say he said?"
"Then he must mean it," cried Mabel energetically. "So I can hold off Mr. Marr and make Dickey jealous by pretending to flirt with him. After all I love Dickey and Dickey loves me, so why shouldn't we marry?"
"I am sure," said I cynically, "that if you put the position clearly to Weston in that way he would do his duty."
"I don't want him to do his duty, just as if I was driving him to the altar," she said, much exasperated. "I wouldn't marry Dickey if I didn't love him, not if he were twice as rich."
She wilfully chose to ignore my hint. "He can remain as a second string to my bow, Cyrus. After all I must marry money. Aunt Lucy"--this was Lady Denham, the late earl's sister--"is always grumbling about my dresses. And--and--and--oh, well, then, never mind, I must be getting back to town." She looked at her bracelet watch. "There's a theatre party and supper at the Ritz to-night, so I haven't much time.