"And we assure you that was not ladies' work. 'Twas not till weeks we achieve' that. That geniuz Aline! she was the arshetec'. And those goldfishes--like Aline--are self-su'porting! We dispose them at the apothecary, Dauphine and Toulouse Street--ha, ha, ha! Corinne, tha'z the egstent of commerce we ever been ab'e to make, eh?"
"And now," said Aline, "the story."
"Ah, yes," responded Mlle. Corinne, "at laz' the manuscrip'!" and Mlle. Yvonne echoed, with a queer guilt in her gayety:
"The manuscrip'! the myzteriouz manuscrip'!"
But there the gate bell sounded and she sprang to her feet. Cupid could answer it, but some one must be indoors to greet the caller.
"Yes, you, Yvonne," the elder sister said, and Aline added: "We'll not read till you return."
"Ah, yes, yes! Read without me!"
"No-no-no-no-no! We'll wait!"
"We'll wait, Yvonne." The sister went.
Chester smoothed out the pages, but then smilingly turned them face downward, and Aline said: