“That’s right, old girl, make the best of a bad bargain. You won’t be much worse off than Diana. Fashionable martyrs both of you.”
“Yes, Tom dear.”
“And you will try to be happy?”
“Yes, dear, I’m going to be happy. But you’ll think the best of me, dear, and take care of poor papa?”
“Of course I will. The old man will be better off when you are gone. Her majesty won’t be so stingy when she has got you both off her hands, and married to rich men.”
“No, dear. I will try and cheer up.”
“That’s right, old girl. I wish some one would make me happy.” This was accompanied by a look at Tryphie, who was in the room.
“I don’t see how you can expect any lady to make you happy, Tom,” said the little girl, sharply. “A gentleman who worships two idols, cigars and billiards, cannot have room for a third love.”
“There she goes,” said Tom, disconsolately. “Maude, I’ve told her I loved her a score of times, and she pooh-poohs me, and looks down upon me.”
“Of course,” said Tryphie, pertly. “Is it not settled that I am to be Mrs Captain Bellman?”