"And such care," answers Lilian; "but for me I do believe Taffy would have gone to the bad long ago."
"'Taffy'! what a curious name. So quaint,—and pretty too, I think. May I," with a quick irrepressible glance, that is half fun, half natural coquetry, "call you Taffy?"
"You may call me anything you like," returns that young gentleman, with the utmost bonhommie
"Call me Daphne, call me Chloris,
Call me Lalage, or Doris,
Only—only—call me thine!"
"It is really mortifying that I can't," says Mrs. Steyne, while she and the others all laugh.
"Sir," says Tom Steyne, "I would have you remember the lady you are addressing is my wife."
Says Taffy, reproachfully:
"Do you think I don't remember it,—to my sorrow?"