And I shot a glance of ancient and paternal affection at these two young things, whose tete-à-tete I had interrupted.
Katy blushed beautifully, and then ended by laughing. Tom caressed his slender mustache, and said:—-
“My dear fellow, I certainly should like to go to heaven—consequently to send my friends there—but if it is all the same to everybody, I think I would prefer—hem!—deferring the journey for a brief period, my boy.”
“Until an angel is ready to go with you!”
And I glanced at the angel with the ringlets.
“Ah, my dear Surry!” said Tom, smoothing his chin with his hand, “you really have a genius for repartee which is intolerable, and not to be endured!”
“Let the angel sit in judgment!”
“Oh, you have most ‘damnable iteration!’”
“I learned it all from you.”
“From me, my boy?”