"Tired! not he," returns Lilian irreverently: "he is quite a gay old gentleman. Nor hungry either. No doubt he has lunched profusely in town, 'not wisely, but too well,' as somebody says. Where are my sweeties, Sir Ancient?"
"My dear Lilian,"—rebukingly,—"if you reflect, you will see he must be both tired and hungry."
"So am I for my creams: I quite pine for them. Sir Guy, where are my sweeties?"
"Here, little cormorant," says Guy, as fondly as he dares, handing her a gigantic bonbonnière in which chocolates and French sweetmeats fight for mastery: "have I got you what you wanted?"
"Yes, indeed; best of Guardys, I only wish I might kiss my thanks."
"You may."
"Better not. Such a condescension on my part might turn your old head. Oh, Taffy," with an exclamation, "you bad greedy boy; you have taken half my almonds! Well, you shan't have any of the others, for punishment. Auntie and Florence and I will eat the rest."
"Thanks," drawls Florence, languidly, "but I am always so terrified about toothache."
"What a pity!" says Miss Chesney. "If I had toothache, I should have all my teeth drawn instantly, and false ones put in their place."
To this Miss Beauchamp, being undecided in her own mind as to whether it is or is not an impertinence, deigns no reply. Cyril, with a gravity that belies his innermost feelings, gazes hard at Lilian, only to acknowledge her innocent of desire to offend.