'Take care, Master Ratton will be jealous,' said Edgar, as he claimed her for the next dance, a quadrille.
'Jealous! oh no! Some people one never thinks of complimenting.'
Cherry caught the words, and wondered what they meant.
A few more dances, and then came Wilmet's anxiously contrived supper.
'I say,' observed Will Harewood to Lance, 'why can't we have things like this at home?'
''Tisn't their nature to,' judiciously responded Lance.
'This cream is quite up to the grub we get after a crack let-off in the Close,' added Will; for requisitions for their voices at private concerts had made the choir connoisseurs in the relics of feasts.
'Better, I should say,' returned Lance. 'Mettie doesn't make it of soap, or arsenic, or verdigris, like old Twopenny.'
'What! you don't mean that she made it herself?'
'Of course! who else should?'