“Why, of course not, of course not,” exclaimed her host, who vied with her father in enjoying all her adventures; “you must be very hungry after such an adventure.”
“I should just think I am—ravenous!”
“But my dear, there is a tray all ready for you, and I was just going to send your dinner upstairs.”
“I know you were, and you are very sweet and kind, but I’ve got an odd failing about meals. I simply can’t eat, however hungry I am, if I’m alone. It’s quite terrible, you know,” looking abnormally serious. “I might be ready to eat myself with hunger, and if I’m all alone I couldn’t take one single bite.”
“A lucky thing for yourself,” laughed Colonel Masterman, “though not, perhaps, for anyone who chanced to be with you—for you’d be quite certain to begin on them first.”
“It would depend upon who it was, and if they were nice and plump.”
“Oh, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs Masterman in a shocked voice; “what a dreadful idea!”
“Then we’ll change the subject,” said Paddy, adding roguishly, “Do you like picture post-cards, Mr Masterman?”
“I think people are very wanting in taste and very out-of-date who don’t,” he answered promptly; “but perhaps in an out-of-the-way place like this you have not yet seen many?”
“On the contrary,” sweetly, “we have seen so many that we are positively sick of the very sight of them. I’m thinking of starting a society, like the one in New York, for suppressing the tune called ‘Hiawatha,’ only mine will be directed against the post-card craze.”