"Yes, and in his love for a good dinner," he said, laughingly.
"Well, from all we Canadians hear, there is every reason he should, an English dinner is enough 'to tempt even ghosts to pass the Styx for more substantial feasts,'" she said, gaily.
"Mrs. Gower is always up to the latest in remembering the tastes of her guests," said Mrs. Dale to her left-hand neighbor, Mr. Buckingham, as tiny crescents of melon preceded the soup.
"That she is," he said, complacently; "no man would sigh for his club dinner, did our hostess cater for him."
"Goodness knows what Henry would do if our bank stopped payment, or our Pittsburg foundries shut down; for I know no more about cooking than Jay Gould's baby," she said, discussing a plate of delicious oyster soup.
"He, I expect, makes himself heard on the feeding bottle," said lively Mrs. Smyth.
"But you are unusually candid as to your short-comings, Mrs. Dale," continued Buckingham, amusedly.
"Because I can afford to be; were I poor, I reckon I should pawn off my mamma's tea-cakes on my young man as my own, as men in love believe anything—they are as dull as Broadway without millinery."
"By the way, Mrs. Dale, talking of millinery, where are your bonnets going to, they are three stories and a mansard at present?"
"Oh, only a cupola, Mr. Buckingham, on which birds will perch."