"I should like to dance," said the little girl, drumming with her feet against the leg of the table, and eating an egg with her fingers. "I may dance presently with Phillippe, may I not, papa?"
"I won't dance," said Phillippe sulkily. "I want some oysters."
"Oysters, mon enfant! I have told you twice already that no one eats oysters in July," observed his mother.
"I don't care for that," said Phillippe. "It's my fête day, and Uncle Jacques said I was to have whatever I fancied; I want some oysters."
"Your Uncle Jacques did not know what an unreasonable boy you are," replied the father angrily. "If you say another word about oysters, you shall not ride in the manège to-night."
Phillippe thrust his fists into his eyes and began to roar--so we walked away.
In an arbor, a little further on, we saw two young people whispering earnestly, and conscious of no eyes but each other's.
"A pair of lovers," said Sullivan.
"And a pair that seldom get the chance of meeting, if we may judge by their untasted omelette," replied Dalrymple. "But where's the bridal party?"
"Oh, we shall find them presently. You seem interested."