“To offer you a bouquet, madame, would be to throw pearls before swine.”
We were all silent for a moment, and then the young men sprang up together, while we women laughed, half afraid.
“Good heavens! Kurz Pacha, what do you mean?” cried Mrs. Potiphar.
“Mean?” answered he, evidently confused, and blushing; “why, I’m afraid I have made some mistake. I meant to say something very polite, but my English sometimes gives way.”
“Your impudence never does,” muttered Mrs. Gnu, who was unbecomingly red in the face.
“My dear madame,” said the minister to her, “I assure you I meant only to use a proverb in a complimentary way; but somehow I have got the wrong pig by the ear.”
There was another burst of laughter. The young men fairly lay down and screamed. Mr. Potiphar exploded in great ha ha’s and ho ho’s, from the end of the table.
“Mrs. Potiphar,” said Mrs. Gnu, with dignity, “I didn’t suppose I was to be insulted at your table.”
And she went toward the door.
“Mrs. Gnu, Mrs. Gnu,” said Polly, smothering her laughter as well as she could, “don’t go. Kurz Pacha will explain. I’m sure he means no insult.”