Volume One—Chapter Nineteen.
Signs of the Times.
“Well, Mrs Bolter,” drawled Chumbley, “who’s going to carry off the prize?”
“What prize?” cried the little lady, sharply.
“The fair Helen,” said the young man, with a smile.
“You, I should say,” said Mrs Bolter, with more asperity in her tone.
“Chaff!” said Chumbley; and he went on, slowly, “Won’t do, Mrs Doctor; I’m too slow for her. She had me in silken strings for a week like a pet poodle; but I soon got tired and jealous of seeing her pet other puppies instead of me, and I was not allowed to bite them, so—”
“Well?” said the doctor’s wife, for he had stopped.
“I snapped the string and ran away, and she has never forgiven me.”