“Anything more I can do, Sir Mark, before I leave the room?”
“Hang it all, no, sir,” cried the old officer, flashing out once more irritably. “This is not a public dinner, and I have given you a vail.”
“Of course, Sir Mark; and I didn’t mean—”
“Then why did you use that confounded old stereotyped waiter’s expression? I wonder you did not hand me a toothpick.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir Mark, I’m sure.”
“Go and read ‘Peter Simple,’ and take Chuck’s, the boatswain’s, words to heart.”
“Certainly, Sir Mark,” and the waiter hurried to the door, leaving Admiral Sir Mark Jerrold muttering, and in time to admit a charmingly dressed, fair-haired bridesmaid in palest blue, and wearing a handsome diamond locket at her throat, and a few bright pearls on her cheeks, living pearls, just escaped from her pretty, red-rimmed eyes.
“‘Trencher scraping—shilling seeking—napkin carrying.’ Ah, Edie, my darling—all ready?”
“Yes, uncle, dear; but, oh, you do look cross!”
She clung to his arm and put up her lips to kiss the old man, whose face softened at her touch.