"Yes, Mary," said the joy of my days, "I really and sincerely believed that she was the circus—I mean, that is, that she was just Mrs. Fitz."
General incredulity, in the course of which George Catesby inquired very politely of the Younger Son if he had enjoyed his day.
"Never enjoyed a day so much," said the Younger Son, with immense conviction, "since we turned up that old customer without a brush in Dipwell Gorse five years ago to-morrow come eleven-fifteen g.m."
"Eleven-twenty, my lad," chirruped the noble Master. "Your memory is failin'."
"Irene," said the uncompromising voice from the end of the table, "I cannot and will not allow myself to believe that you were not in the secret before the fire."
"Tell it to the Marines, Irene," said Mrs. Josiah P. Perkins.
"Wonder what she will ask us to believe next," said Miss Laura Glendinning.
"What indeed!" said the Vicar's wife.
"It isn't human nature," affirmed Lady Frederick.
"Very well, then," said the star of my destiny, with an ominous sparkle of a china-blue eye, "you can ask Odo."