‘Georgina, you’ve no business at my trousers pockets! It’s—dash it—it’s embezzlement!’
Miss Duck laughed, an irritating, satirical little laugh, and, seizing the piece of paper which her brother held in his hand, she spread it out and read it aloud.
‘Dear Mrs. Turvey—may I say Susan?—Dr. Birnie tells me, my own, you are progressing favourably, and may see visitors in a week’s time. I count the hours. As the poet says:—
‘“Thou wert all the world to me, love,
For which my soul did pine;
A green isle in the sea, love,
To be your valentine.”
Oh, Susan, when reason returns, and health mantles your cheek once more, may I hope that you will grant the prayer of your ever-devoted Jabez?’
‘Give it to me!’ shrieked Mr. Duck, making a violent effort to seize his crumpled billet-doux.
‘Certainly,’ said Miss Georgina, tossing it contemptuously across the table to her brother, who tore it into fragments, and jumped upon it.