"I must beg pardon, now, for interrupting you, Mr. Wallace," said Aunt Martha, with the calmest of voices and the smile all smoothed away from her face. "You are mistaken again. We were neither discussing religious nor national affairs, when you were so kind as to come down and join us." (Emphasis on the word "kind," which made the young man wince a little and for the moment predisposed the Colonel to a chuckle.) "Colonel Bancker was saying—"
"Really, my dear Madame," put in the Colonel, "it is scarcely necessary to repeat—"
"Oh, we have had quite enough of misconceptions," said that estimable lady, with what appeared to be another shot at Wallace. "Let us have the truth at last. I had the impoliteness to ask Colonel Bancker his age, and he had the courtesy to say that he was just turned of thirty-two."
"Ph-ph-ph-ph-ew!" came in a long whistle from the lips of the tormentor. The Colonel sprung to his feet in an instant, and looked angrily around. Frank Wallace was quite on the other side of the room, examining a pastel over the mantel, and whistling very slightly, but he was certainly whistling the serenade from "Pasquali."
"Sir!" said the Colonel, rage in the word.
"Meaning me?" asked Wallace, turning around.
"Was that whistle intended for me, sir?" demanded the Colonel, tragically.
"Certainly not," answered Wallace. "I was directing my whistle, which is not a good one, and certainly impolite in company—at the cornice. The cornice is a handsome one, you will notice, Colonel, and I think by Garvey. Those festoons of roses—"
"Mr. Wallace, you shall answer to me for this!" broke out the Colonel, now no longer master of himself.
"Gentlemen! gentlemen!" said Aunt Martha, rising.