“In my time,” he said to the shaking mass of pink muslin beside him, “we weren’t half as funny as you young people seem to be.”
“Weren’t you?” retorted Georgette van Troyen. “How slow you must have been! Too bad, not even to have had a good time in your youth! But isn’t this too amusing, this story that Willie is telling?”
The Baron returned hastily to his omelet.
“Isn’t it too amusing?” cried the young girl, appealing to Otto.
“I haven’t heard it,” said the latter; at which they all roared again. Willie was in high spirits, though Gerard was endeavoring to arrest his narration.
“Do shut up, Troy; we’ve had quite enough of it,” growled Gerard.
“No, indeed, I am mistress here!” cried Helena, her eyes sparkling with merriment. “Go on, Mynheer van Troyen; you and the Captain had agreed on the wager. And you answered the advertisements; and what happened then? The advertisements,” she called across to Otto in explanation, “were from young ladies in search of a husband.”
“From ladies,” corrected the little officer, who looked like a bibulous cherub. “Well, we got replies to our letters, and we wrote again, arranging a meeting. We convened all the aspirants—there were four of them—at the same spot, and, of course, the same hour, and we bade them dress up in red shawls and white feathers. And when we drove past, taking Gerard and another man as umpires, there they were, the whole four of them; I think there were even more!”
Renewed shrieks of laughter greeted the final sally.
“It’s too killing!” cried Helena, the tears on her cheeks. “And what were they doing? Tearing each other’s eyes out?”