Caroline, having, this morning, been fortunate enough to secure her position, made a rather ostentatious display of her care for his comfort.
"There," she said, when he came in, "I have made you some toast—and your tea is quite ready—no, I mean your chocolate—for you must try that this morning—it is best quite hot—so I have got it in this little pot by the fire, for, see, I have been making it myself."
"Thank you," said Hargrave, in a sufficiently discouraging tone, as he accepted her services.
"You are a naughty boy," she returned; "you never say anything more than that sulky thank you."
"Because I am really sorry to give you so much trouble," said he, sincerely; "I am so accustomed to wait on myself, that—"
"Say no more, you sulky creature," cried she, with one of her blandest smiles; "'virtue is its own reward'—so I will give you your chocolate without any thanks. But I wish you would not go away to-day—do come with us to the Octagon?"
"No, thank you—I am engaged."
"Why, you are as punctual to your engagements, as if you were courting some country lass, in your Sunday's best. I am afraid you are doing no good. You are not going, I hope, to act the play of the lowly lady over again?"
"What was that?"