“Greedy little beast!” observed Clara.
“Clara, my love!” suggested her mamma.
“Not half so greedy as you. Who took the woodcock pie up to her bed-room? Ah-ha!” vociferated the young gentleman.
“Now I’ll do it myself!” exclaimed the languid young lady, rising with sudden energy.
“I’ll fling these in your ugly face, if you come near me,” cried he, jumping up, and behind his mamma’s chair, with a knife and fork in his right hand covered with Savory pie.
“I won’t have this; I won’t have it,” said Mrs. Kincton Knox with peremptory dignity. “Howard, be quiet, my love; Clara, sit down.”
“The imp! he’ll never stop till he murders some one,” exclaimed Miss Clara, with intense feeling, as she sat down with brilliant cheeks and flashing eyes. “Look at him, mamma; he’s saying ha-ha, and shaking his knife he struck at me, the little murderer; and the liar!”
“Clara, I insist,” interposed Mrs. Kincton Knox.
“Yes, I do believe he’s an actual devil,” persisted the young lady.
“I won’t have this,” continued the mater familias, peremptorily.