Stargarde was at breakfast, and laying a bunch of roses, flowers that she passionately loved, beside her, he drew up a chair and with a dismal face begged for a cup of chocolate.
“I have to give you up,” he said, swallowing the scalding liquor with alarming taste and rolling his twinkling eyes at her.
“Have you?” tranquilly.
“Yes; my family doesn’t approve,” and he related his domestic troubles to her.
“Dear things, how they love you!” and she gazed caressingly at him.
“I wonder what would make me give you up?” he muttered.
“I will go and see Mrs. Trotley and Zilla and poor old Hannah,” she said thoughtfully.
“You don’t wish them to leave my house, do you?”
“Oh, no, no; I am accustomed to a large family. We shall all live happily together.”
“Are you ever going to stop eating bread and butter?” he asked impatiently. “That is your fifth slice.”