THE PALACE OF THE KINGS.
Miss Agnes Delacour was the last person to let the grass grow under her feet. She, as she expressed it to herself, 'cornered' her brother-in-law as soon as the five little girls tripped off to bed. There was nothing, she said inwardly, like taking the bull by the horns. Accordingly she attacked that ferocious beast in the form of quiet, courteous Mr Lennox with her usual energy.
'George,' she said, 'you are angry with your poor sister.'
'Oh, not at all,' he replied. 'Pray take a seat. This chair I can recommend as most comfortable.'
Miss Agnes accepted the chair, but pursued her own course of reasoning.
'You 're angry,' she continued, 'because I did not go to poor Lucy's funeral.'
'We will let that matter drop,' said Lennox, his very refined face turning slightly pale.
'But, my dear brother, we must not let it drop. It is my duty to protest, and to defend myself. There was a woman with cataract.'
'Dear Agnes, I know that story so well. I am glad the woman recovered her sight.'
'Then you are a good Christian man, George, and we are friends once again.'