“Horribly,” said Artingale, laughing. “Why, you saucy little puss!”
Matters here not necessary for publication.
“I don’t want to say unkind things,” said Cynthia, pouting now, “but I’m sure poor Sage Portlock would have been a great deal wiser if she had married Luke Ross; and if you were in your right senses, Harry, you would never think of marrying into such an unhappy family as ours.”
“Oh, but then I’ve been out of my mind for long enough, Cynthy. The wise ones said I ran mad after the Rector’s little daughter.”
“When you might have made a most brilliant match or two, I heard,” cried Cynthia.
“Yes, pet, all right,” he said, laughing; “but you’re in for it. I won’t be pitched over.”
“I’m sure the state of Cyril’s home is disgraceful.”
“I dare say, my darling; but we are not going to live there.”
“Don’t be so stupid,” cried Cynthia. “But tell me, Harry, has James Magnus cut you?”
“No. Oh, no; only I am so much away now that instead of being regular chums we don’t often meet. Hah! what jolly times I used to have with him, to be sure!”