The lovers for two hours had chattered aimlessly, as ones wandering in a wilderness of bliss. This was the first pointed remark.
“Anon! love; we will feed anon!” replied Angelina McLaurin dreamily. “But, George, before we get in our gustatory work, I would a word with you—indeed! sundry words.”
“Aim low, and send 'em along!” said George. “What is it my Queen would learn from her slave?”
In his ecstacy he achieved a “half Nelson” on the lovely girl, and caught her in the back of the neck with a kiss.
The Angora cat, who was stealthily threading the hall, intending to play a return game with the library rug, gave a great convulsive start, at the kiss, which carried him out of the mansion, and over the alley fence.
“They're a mark too high for me!” said the Angora to himself.
Then inflating his lungs to the last limit of expansion, the Angora sent a song of invitation down the line that set every Tabby in the block to washing her face and combing her ears.
“Your Queen wants a square heel-and-toe talk, George,” said the sweet girl, as she tucked up her silken locks, dishevelled by his caresses into querulous little rings. “And your Queen wants straight goods this time, and no guff! Oh, darling!” continued Angelina McLaurin in a passionate outburst, “be square with me, and make me those promises upon which my life's happiness depends!”
George Maurice St. John strained Angelina to his bosom.
“I'll promise anything!” he said. “What wouldst thou have me do? My life, my fortune, my honour—my all, I lay at your feet! Monkey with them as thou wilt.”