"I'm burning to find out," answered Lord Stafford, calmly.
"There's nothing burning about you—except your cigar," said Mrs. Bunker, contemptuously, "and that's going out."
"So it is—thank you."
"Let me hold the match, your hand is trembling, mine is as firm as a rock."
"Ah, I'm getting on—but you have discovered the secret of eternal youth."
"We had a time getting her home," said Mrs. Bunker, in a low voice, ignoring this last remark. "Do you think her mother and father had any influence with her? Not a bit. Grandma Chazy did it. I sent the poor, deluded parents to bed, and I put on a wrapper and fussed about my room, while she sat by herself in the parlor, working herself up into a rage about her husband's tyranny, and rushing to the window, every time a cab passed, to see if he was coming. Well, I grew tired of this, so I went to bed. When she had worn herself out, she put her head into my room. 'Grandma Chazy, where shall I sleep?' 'On the sofa, dear. Throw your cloak over you. I've only a single bed, or I would offer you half.' She slammed the door, in a rage. About a half hour later, 'Grandma Chazy, I guess I'll go home.' 'Is that so, dear? Going—good night.' And I fell asleep, apparently."
"Mrs. Bunker," remarked Lord Stafford, "if I ever marry, it shan't be an American."
"Oh yes, you will, because you say you won't."
"Oh, then I shan't marry at all—that's the safest way."
"The most dangerous," assured Mrs. Bunker, mockingly. "A man is never safe from marriage until he is married."