“Weally now? you don’t mean it!”
“I do. Here it has been going on for more than three years, and I have been living all this time at what they call ‘the seat of war,’ and I haven’t seen one great battle or even one little skirmish yet!” grumbled Elfie.
“And do you weally with to witneth an engagement, Mith Fielding?”
“I really do.”
“How would an engagement thealed with a wedding wing do, in lack of an engagement with the enemy?” lisped the exquisite, caressing his moustache.
“If you like to talk rubbish, Mr. Billingcoo, there are some young ladies at the other end of the boat who will listen to you with the utmost patience all day long,” said Elfie, coldly.
“Weally, now? Ith that tho? But thuppothe I pwefer your company?”
“Then you will have to talk sense or be silent.”
“Mith Fielding, you are cwuel.”
“Mr. Billingcoo, you are absurd!”