“My dear, dear son! Kiss me, Alfred,” replied his mother.
He stooped and kissed her cheek.
“How happy we shall all be!” murmured she.
“Oh, very, very happy!” answered Alfred, as he opened the door.
But as he closed it behind him, the best billiard-player at the Trimountain billiard-rooms said, ruefully, in his heart, while he went to his beloved,
“Oh! dear me! Oh!—dear—me! How’d I happen to do it?”
Fanny Newt, of course, had heard from Alfred of the interview with his mother on the same evening, as they sat in Mrs. Newt’s parlor before going into the ball. Fanny was arrayed in a charming evening costume. It was low about the neck, which, except that it was very white, descended like a hard, round beach from the low shrubbery of her back hair to the shore of the dress. It was very low tide; but there was a gentle ripple of laces and ribbons that marked the line of division. Mr. Alfred Dinks had taken a little refreshment since the conversation with his mother, and felt at the moment quite equal to any emergency.
“The fact is, Fanny dear,” said he, “that mother has always insisted that I should marry Hope Wayne. Now Hope Wayne is a very pretty girl, a deuced pretty girl; but, by George! she’s not the only girl in the world—hey, Fanny?”
At this point Mr. Dinks made free with the lips of Miss Newt.
“Pah! Alfred, my dear, you have been drinking wine,” said she, moving gently away from him.