"That is hard for me to say. I so well like it all. Perhaps—ah—perhaps I prefer the—the ah—the middle portion."
"Ah, you like that part which tells the story of Mary of Burgundy," returned Aunt Dorothy. "Oh, Malcolm, I know upon what theme you are always thinking—the ladies, the ladies."
"Can the fair Lady Crawford chide me for that?" my second self responded in a gallant style of which I was really proud. "She who has caused so much of that sort of thought surely must know that a gentleman's mind cannot be better employed than—"
"Malcolm, you are incorrigible. But it is well for a gentleman to keep in practice in such matters, even though he have but an old lady to practise on."
"They like it, even if it be only practice, don't they?" said Dorothy, full of the spirit of mischief.
"I thank you for nothing, Sir Malcolm Vernon," retorted Aunt Dorothy with a toss of her head. "I surely don't value your practice, as you call it, one little farthing's worth."
But Malcolm No. 2, though mischievously inclined, was much quicker of wit than Malcolm No. 1, and she easily extricated herself.
"I meant that gentlemen like it, Lady Crawford."
"Oh!" replied Lady Crawford, again taking up her book. "I have been reading Sir Philip's account of the death of your fair Mary of Burgundy. Do you remember the cause of her death?"
Malcolm No. 2, who had read Sir Philip so many times, was compelled to admit that he did not remember the cause of Mary's death.