"They came in beauty, side by side,
They filled one home with glee.
Their bones are scattered—"
She paused with an expressive gesture.
"The best of it is,—you will admit that this is neat, Fluffy, even if your slavery to the virtues compels your disapproval,—the best of it is, the bandbox is the property of our Puggy."
"Miss Pugsley's bandbox! Oh, Grace!"
"Precisely! Our Puggy goes heavily without it, I am told. What would you? It was outside her door, while sweeping was going on; one is human, after all. She was out, with the best bonnet on her head. Poor head! Poor bonnet! My hearty commiseration for both! When she returned, no bandbox! At present she harries the domestics; she hasn't thought of me yet, for a wonder. To-morrow, or the day after, I shall finish the pies—alas! Then I return the repository, and her bonnet acquires a fine, full, fruity flavour that annihilation alone can remove.
"You may break, you may shatter
The tile if you will,
But the scent of the brandy
Will cling round it still."
"Grace! What a diabolical plot! and you have been lying awake, I suppose, chuckling over this!"
Miss Wolfe waved her hand in deprecation. "Not lying awake, sweet one! Too slight a thing for that; still, it served to amuse. One must live, even you will admit that. What's this? Greek? Give it me!" She stretched out her hand for the book, but Bertha held it fast.
"No! no, Goat; I want it myself, and besides, you have no business here, you know you haven't."
"No; and you?" replied the other, coolly.