“Where does he live?”
“And is it all alone you are, on Xmas Night!” he burbled. (This is a word from Alice in Wonderland, and although not in the dictionery, is quite expressive.)
“Yes,” I replied, bitterly. “I am old enough to be married off without my consent, but I am not old enough for a real Ball. It makes me sick.”
“I can smuggle him here, if you want to talk to him.”
“Smuggle!” I said, with scorn. “There is no need to smuggle him. The Familey is crazy about him. They are flinging me at him.”
“Well, that’s nice,” he said. “Who’d have thought it! Shall I bring him to the ’phone?”
“I don’t want to talk to him. I hate him.”
“Look here,” he observed, “if you keep that up, he’ll begin to beleive you. Don’t take these little quarrels too hard, Barbara. He’s so happy to-night in the thought that you——”
“Does he live in a Cabinet, or where?”
“In a what? I don’t get that word.”