“O yes, I’ll come.”
“The deuce you will! well, I never! I say, Doll,” he sang out to that young lady as she appeared upon the scene, “what has happened to Jeremy—he’s coming out calling?”
“I fancy he’s got an attraction,” said Miss Dorothy.
“I say, old fellow, you haven’t been cutting me out with Florence, have you?”
“I am sure it would be no great loss if he had,” put in Dorothy, with an impatient little stamp of the foot.
“You be quiet, Doll. I’m very fond of Florence, she’s so clever, and nice-looking, too.”
“If being clever means being able to say spiteful things, and having a temper like—like a fiend, she is certainly clever enough; and as for her looks, they are a matter of taste—not that it is for me to talk about good looks.”
“O, how humble we are, Doll! dust on our head and sackcloth on our back, and how our blue eyes flash!”
“Be quiet, Ernest, or I shall get angry.”
“O no, don’t do that; leave that to people with a temper ‘like—like a fiend,’ you know. There, there, don’t get cross, Dolly; let’s kiss and be friends.”