"Bebe Beatoun? Oh, Handcock's niece, and Harriet's 'most cherished.' Fortunately, her mother is at present in Italy, so she can't come, which is lucky for us all, as she is a dame terrible. Then we must ask Blanche Going."
"Oh, must you ask her?" I exclaim, discontentedly. "I don't think I quite like her; she is so supercilious, and seems to consider me so—so young."
"Is that a fault? I never met any one with such a veneration for age as you have. I tell you, Phyllis, there is nothing on earth so desirable as youth. Be glad of it while you have it; it never lasts. I dare say Blanche herself would not mind taking a little of it off your hands, if—she only could."
"I don't think so; she rather gave me the impression that she looked down upon me, as though I were foolish and not worth much consideration."
"Don't be uncharitable, Phyllis; she could not think anything so absurd. Besides, she told me herself one day she liked you immensely—hoped you and she would be tremendous friends, and so on. Blanche is too good-natured to treat any one as you say."
"Perhaps so. But, really, now, Marmaduke—seriously, I mean—would you not wish me to be older? Say twenty-five or so, with a little more knowledge of everything, you know? And, in fact, I mean would it not be better if I were more a woman of the world?"
"Oh, horror of horrors!" cries 'Duke, raising his, hands in affected terror. "How can you suggest anything so cruel! If I were married to a fashionable woman I would either cut and run, or commit suicide in six months."
"Then you really think me—-" I hesitate.
"A veritable little goose. No, no!—perfection, I mean," seeing me pout. Then suddenly putting his arms round me and drawing me down to him, he whispers, with deep feeling, "Phyllis, my darling, darling girl, don't you know it? Must I tell it you over and over again? Cannot you see every hour of your life how fondly I love you, just for what you are? And you, Phyllis, tell me—do you—-" He stops abruptly and regards me with a curious earnestness for a minute, then, laughing rather constrainedly, puts me gently back from him and goes on: "What other guests shall we name? Mark Gore; would you care for him?"
"Yes; I liked what I saw of him. And Dora, Marmaduke."