"Cover your head, you very thoughtless woman," was his brotherly salutation as he approached, plunging about in his pockets in search of a cigar the while.
"Bother!" she ejaculated, tossing her golden locks; "my hair needs a sunbath. I only wish I dare indulge myself further! If you had any heart you wouldn't torture me so constantly with the odor of those magnificent Havanas, when you know how my very soul longs for a weed!"
"Poor little woman," laughing maliciously; "fancy Mrs. John Arthur of Oakley smoking a Perique! Isn't it prime, Co.?" puffing out a cloud of perfumed smoke.
"Prime! bah! I'd like to strangle you, or—"
"Or?—" inquiringly.
"Somebody," laughing nervously.
"Just so; Miss Arthur would be a good subject and that would confer a favor on me, too, by Jove!"
"I don't want to confer a favor on you. You had much better try and do me one, I think."
"With all my heart, taking my ability for granted, of course; only tell me how."
Cora shrugged her crimson-clad shoulders, and they paced forward in silence for a time. Then as if his stillness had been speech of a distasteful kind, she ejaculated, crossly, and without turning her head: "Stuff! you talk too much!"