"Might have said we," thought her husband, but he swelled himself like
Froggie in the fable.
"Now, Cis," continued la petite, "isn't that a nice sugar plum for you?"
"Sugar plum for me!" said Stuart, who thoroughly enjoyed a bit of chaff with wee Blanche, "Sugar plum for me! Think I require one to console me for Sir Tilton running off with you?"
"You're too big a humbug to get any from me, Mr. Stuart. Barnum's umbrella wouldn't begin to take you in; if you try and be a good young man, perhaps you'll get one over there," she added irreverently.
"Why, that's in the direction of Mrs. Haughton's boudoir, you very naughty girl," laughed Stuart. "I wonder if I would, though; I must find some one to sympathise with."
"Bunthorn again," laughed Mrs. Wingfield; "you had better apply for the vacant footstool."
"Never get a softer seat, Stuart," said small Everly, looking as important as the lords of the Berlin treaty.
"I'm too awfully too ashamed of you, Baronet," said his bride. "You're as demoralized as all the New York theatres rolled in one."
"Lady Everly," said Stuart, solemnly and consulting his tablets, "I am aware of your weakness for small people," with a side glance, "small plots and puzzles. Read this one for me, please: where am I to find Miss Tompkins, to whom I am engaged for this dance?"
"Guess you'll have to put up with Lady Everly," she said, saucily.