“Well, I must say this much in her praise,” answered Candituft, “she bore the delay with the greatest patience.” Gradually Hodmadod unrolled his head from the blankets. “She talked and chatted away the time in the prettiest and pleasantest manner.”
“You don’t say so?” cried Hodmadod, again showing his heated face to the light, and staring in the eyes of the cool and traitorous Candituft. “You don’t say so?”
“It might have been to disguise her real feelings,” said Candituft. “Nevertheless, I must say, it did not seem like it. No; the fortitude seemed genuine. I know your partiality—you like women with such philosophy.”
“No, I don’t,” cried Hodmadod savagely. “When I say I don’t like ’em, I mean I hate ’em.”
“It’s my mistake, my dear friend. Well, where was I? Oh, well—we waited the hour; and when the clock struck we left the church,” repeated Candituft.
“And Agatha?” moaned Hodmadod.
“Why, the little heroine skipped into her carriage, happy as a bird.”—
“She’s a flirt—a jilt”—cried Hodmadod. “I’m very much obliged to Doctor Stubbs.”
“Do you really feel an obligation for that double dose?” asked Candituft.
“I do—I do!” shouted Hodmadod, and he shook Candituft’s hand, and in despair again rolled himself up in the bed-clothes.