“What?”
“Fire!”
“Fire?”
“Fire.”
“Ha! ha! ha! it will suit you admirably, my little Berners of the Burning Heart. But how on earth will you contrive to costume and impersonate the consuming element?”
“It would take me a week to tell you, and then you would not understand. But you shall see.”
“I hope you will not set all your company in a flame; that is all, my dear.”
“But I shall try to do so. And now, dear Lyon, if you wish to help me, sit down at my writing-table there, and fill out and direct the invitations, you will find the visiting list, printed cards, and blank envelopes all in a parcel in the desk.”
“But is it not early to send them?” inquired Mr. Berners, as he seated himself at the table.
“No; not for a mask ball. This is the tenth. The ball is to come off on the thirty-first. If the cards are sent to-day, our friends will have just three weeks to get ready, which will not be too long to select their characters and contrive their costumes.”