Imprudent Lady by Joan Smith Page A

things?"
    “I don't know, but you misjudge him. He is not like that at all. He has very strict notions of propriety.” She toyed with the idea of telling him Seville had feared she was Dammler's lightskirt, but decided against it.
    “Seville! He has no more notion of propriety than a jackrabbit."
    “How can you say so? He's your friend. You introduced him to me."
    “Yes, and that is why I am worried. I never thought you'd catch his eye. You aren't his type. I wonder if the old fool has decided to take up with the literary society. Might think it would lend him a vicarious air of intellect. God knows he could use it. He is very proper in his dealings with you?"
    “Of course. Oh, he gossips about the ton, but you may be sure he does not take me for any loose piece of baggage."
    “There—I've depraved you. For Miss Mallow to be speaking of herself in terms of loose baggage! Well, he is up to something, but apparently it isn't what we feared. I don't like the company he introduces to you, however. I wish you would see less of him, or at least not go about with him without some other company. Some respectable married couple, or some such thing."
    “I am not really fond of him. I don't expect I'll be seeing much of him—we have little in common."
    “If the old Benedict gets out of hand, call on me, and I'll come galloping ventre à terre on my white steed to rescue you. Promise me, Prudence."
    “Promise.” She found herself aping his shrug, and felt foolish.
    “What a lot of bother you women are. Whoever would have thought I would end up playing Dutch uncle to a little greenhead of a spinster.” Prudence gave a mental wince at this, but concealed it quite well. At least he had come to realize she was not a man.
    “Now I have shocked you with my heedless tongue again.” She realized she had not concealed it as well as she thought. “You are only twenty-four, and not a spinster any more, I suppose, since I foolishly induced you to take off your caps. Do me a favour, Miss Mallow, put them back on and start pretending you are forty or so again, so I can stop worrying about you."
    “Don't worry about me. I have a family to protect me. Worry about Shilla and her Mogul. When is she due to tread the boards?"
    “Not this season. It isn't half done.” He arose. “I'm off, Miss Mallow. May I call on you tomorrow? I'd like you to look over Shilla for me and see what you think of her. There is no one whose opinion I respect more."
    “I should be happy to,” she answered with real pride. Her womanhood had been laid low by his thoughtless words, but how fine to have a poet of Dammler's stature pay her such a compliment.

Chapter Nine

    The next morning Prudence received two notes, one of them accompanied by a spray of violets, which she had happened to mention liking, from Mr. Seville. He requested her company for a drive that afternoon. Just as well I cannot go with him, she thought, remembering her appointment with Dammler. The other envelope bore a crest, and when she opened it, it was a scrawl of two lines from Dammler. “Miss Mallow: I can't bring Shilla to you this p.m. after all. She has other plans, and we daren't buck her. See you soon. Be Prudent about S. Dammler."
    She felt a letdown of no small magnitude, then read the note again for any hidden compliment or insult. It was facetious—but he was always joking. Some business had come up that detained him. There was no one whose opinion he valued more than hers. He would come soon. “Be Prudent about S.” Seville, of course. Strange he hadn't said what detained him. Had it been herself breaking the appointment, she would have felt a complete explanation necessary. And no explanation occurred to her either which could be important enough to break a date with Dammler. From suspicion she slid easily into jealousy, and she was soon possessed of the idea that Shilla should more accurately read Phyrne. That would account for his not giving her the reason. No doubt a