"Sich subjects, Miss Clorinda, is not fit for yer lubly lips," said Dolf; "don' gib dem houseroom, I begs."
"Mr. Dolf," returned Clorinda, with a severity that pierced like a warning through the elation of Lothario's brain; "don' try none ob dem flightinesses wid me; I ain't one ob dat sort."
"What sort?" asked Victoria.
"Neber yer mind," said Clo, with majesty; "neber yer mind, miss; children don' comprehensianise sich like."
"I onderstands Miss Clorinda, and I venerates her sentimens," observed Dolf; "but when a gemman finds hisself in sich siety as dis, de language of compliments flows as naturally ter his lips as—as—cider from a junk bottle."
This well-rounded period softened both the damsels a little; Dolf got Clo on his right arm and Vic on his left; the support was not unwelcome to himself just then; and he managed to keep them both in tolerable humor until they nearly reached the house.
Whether Dolf stumbled, or Victoria gave a sly, vicious push, it was difficult to tell in the darkness, but Clorinda went suddenly down full length in the path.
Victoria gave a laugh of derision, and this gratification of her malicious feelings in the misfortune of her rival, put her in high good-humor.
Dolf hastened to help Clorinda up, but his movements were a little uncertain, and the first thing he did was to set his foot through the crown of her bonnet, which had fallen back from her head.
"I'se killed," shrieked Clo.