"And supposing he hadn't walked under ladders, but was alive in the West Indies, what relation would he be to you and to me?"
She was proceeding to tell him in all good faith, but he stopped her. "And now," he said, "I will tell you a tale. But first, as my feelings have been considerably harassed, I will solace myself with a pipe."
She was being taught to fill his pipe, and to light it, and on this occasion was made to take a couple of draws to prove to herself that she had not properly cleaned it with the hairpin, according to instructions given last night. So that the story was long delayed, and when at length it came it did not amount to much.
"There was once an old man who gave a dinner-party."
"That was daddy," Elinor said, from the arm of the chair where she was now sitting with her shoulder against his.
"It was on the occasion of the marriage of his only daughter to a handsome and agreeable young man, the most eligible parti of the neighbourhood."
"That was you and me," Nell explained, contentedly. "Well, you are a vain old boy!"
"No interruptions, please," Ted went on, pulling at his pipe. "Although the occasion was one of rejoicing, there was a melancholy circumstance connected with it which cast a shadow over the otherwise sunshiny—'m—sunshine of the scene."
"You're as bad as a newspaper. Go on softly, or you'll never keep it up. I can't think what's coming."
"The guests sat down thirteen to table——"