"Give me an American for a due appreciation of our sex," said Mrs. Gower, gaily.
"No, no; you are wrong. You ought to know an Irishman to be the most gallant man that lives," Mr. Cobbe said, sulkily.
"Well, yes, perhaps you are the most gallant," she said, thoughtfully, "but in the bearing of an American man towards my sex there is a something more—there is a gentle courtesy, a deference, a grave tenderness."
"Tut, tut," said Mr. Cobbe, turning over the leaves of an album impatiently.
"I fear you flatter us," said Buckingham.
"No, I think not; simply because your great Republic is so highly civilized and progressive, the outcome of which is our enthronement with you; while, in other countries, we are still midway between our footstool of the dark ages and our throne with you."
Here Mr. St. Clair, Captain Tremaine, and a young barrister, a Mr. McCullogh, made their entrée.
"Your drawing-room is looking very pretty, Mrs. Gower," said Tremaine; "the holly and mistletoe brings me home again."
"Yes, it looks so well against the blue and tan panels, that I am tempted to let it stay."
"Where did you get it; it is very fine and healthy?" asked St. Clair, admiringly.