“They’re beautiful! Thank you—dear, dearest papa”—cried the more impulsive Agatha, and—thoughtless of the presence of Candituft—she threw her arms about Jericho’s neck.
“And the pair of you have pearls, eh?” asked Jericho, very hopelessly.
“Look,” said Monica, and she exhibited her treasure.
“Look,” cried Agatha, and she half-dropt upon one knee, on the other side, to show her jewels.
“Beautiful!” cried Candituft. “Pray ladies, don’t stir.”—The girls, with pretty wonder in their faces, kept their positions on either side of Jericho. “My dear Madam”—and Candituft appealed to Mrs. Jericho—“Is not this a delightful group? An exquisite family picture? It ought to be painted. On either side beauty lustrous with thankfulness, and for the centre figure, benevolence unconscious of its worth. Positively it must go to the Academy.”
“Milton and his Daughters quite common-place to it,” averred Miss Candituft, joining the party: for the interesting group above had been suddenly scattered by the arrival of the jeweller. Hence, Sir Arthur Hodmadod shortly afterwards edged himself into the circle, contributing his admiration in his own nervous style. Ere, however, his praises could call forth a response, there was an addition to the party in the flushed and hurried person of Basil Pennibacker.
“Beg your pardon. Like a cannon-ball, you see, bring my own apology with me,” cried Basil.
“My dear child,” said Mrs. Jericho. “What is the matter? Why are you always in such a hurry?”
“Credit’s long, ma’am, life is short, as the latin tailor says,” and Basil bowed to the guests.
“Look at mamma’s diamonds and our pearls,” cried Agatha.