"You are quite sure you want me to come?" said Harriet suspiciously.
"Why, if you won't come, I shall ask Lovat—dear Lovat, by the happiest fluke in the world not Lovelace—to let me stay here to tea, dinner, or supper—that is, to the next meal, whatever name it may bear."
At this Harriet disappeared to put on a proper dress.
"We will go as soon as you are ready," called Kangaroo. "We can all squeeze into that automobile at your gate."
When Harriet reappeared the men rose. Kangaroo looked at her with admiration.
"What a remarkably beautiful person you are," he said. "But mind, I don't say woman. Dio liberi!" He scuttled hurriedly to the door.
They had a gay dinner. Kangaroo wasn't really witty. But he had such an innocent charm, an extraordinary winsomeness, that it was much more delicious than wit. His presence was so warm. You felt you were cuddled cosily, like a child, on his breast, in the soft glow of his heart, and that your feet were nestling on his ample, beautiful "tummy."
"I wonder you were never married," said Harriet to him.
"I've been married several times," he replied.
"Really!" she cried.
"First to Benny Cooley—then to immortal verse—after that to the law—once to a haughty lady—and now 'm wedded to my ideals. This time it is final. I don't take another wife."
"I don't care about the rest. But were you ever married, really?"
"To a woman? A mere woman? Why, yes indeed. A young Baroness too. And after seven months she told me she couldn't stand me for another minute, and went off with Von Rumpeldorf."
"Ts it true?"
"Quite true."
"And is there still a Mrs Kangaroo?"
"Alas, no! Like the unicorn, the family knows no female."
"But why couldn't she stand you?" cried Harriet.
