“’Ere’s a health to the bride,” said Mr. Johnny Dubosque.
“Thank you, Johnny.”
“I was just a-tellin’ his lordship,” said Mr. Horace Allwright, “that she was absolutely the finest Cinderella I’ve ever played to, and I’ve played to some of the first in my time, let me tell you. Good ’ealth, gentlemen.”
And while Mr. Horace Allwright was happily engaged in pledging the health of the company, Mary proceeded to transfix the first Olympian with such a staunch, straight and demure gray eye that the heart of the famous athlete was literally pinned against the antimacassar of yellow plush upholstery which had been provided by the hotel for the use of its patrons.
“His lordship’s drawn a winner in the lottery, gentlemen,” continued Mr. Horace Allwright, and in this the first Olympian was strongly inclined to concur.
“Cut it out, Horace,” said the Uncrowned Queen of Blackhampton with a very arch glance at Johnny Dubosque. “It isn’t cricket, is it, Johnny? in these fashionable watering-places. And I won’t have you pull the leg of my Phil-ipp by calling him my lord, when he’s promised me solemn to stand for Mr. Lloyd George.”
“You haven’t, Shel?” quoth the Olympians, feeling it was up to them to say something, and that this was something they might say.
“Oh, but he has,” said the Uncrowned Queen, “and I should never have married him if he hadn’t—should I, Phil-ipp?”
And she transfixed both the Olympians this time with that demure glance of tremendous impact.
“Oh, but I say, Mrs. Shel,” quoth the first Olympian, beginning to feel a glow within, “what about his Governor, you know?”