“Carrie, dear,” she said, “you are the only one who has any influence over that irrepressible man. Do gag him for a few minutes;” and passed over a plate of gaufrettes, which Carrie brought to me.
I held the plate to Mrs. Loring Chatterton, who, a reminiscence of fun still in her eyes, accepted the peace-offering with a warning shake of her head.
“Mr. Butterfield,” she said, “you never were anything but mischievous, and it’s my opinion you never will be. Oh, I wish I could get you off my hands. There are plenty of nice girls. Look at Millie there,” she whispered.
“Mrs. Loring,” I replied, “once upon a time there was a fox, who was caught in a trap, and had his tail cut off. After that——”
“Ah well, I suppose you know your own mind. But, Mr. Butterfield”—she leaned over, and spoke quite low—“I believe you make out your young days—and Loring’s—to have been much worse than they were. Do you not, now?”
Mrs. Loring had a little beauty-spot on her conscience which she thought was a stain.
II
A HYPOTHETICAL CASE
Carrie and I were placidly surveying, from either end of my little dining-table, the creditable wreck we had made of a rather neat little dinner. Carrie never disdains this hour of the animal, at whatever table fortune shall place her; and when she does me the honour to dine with me, she generally pays me the compliment of evident enjoyment. It is a feature I admire in her.
I was making leisurely coffee arrangements with my latest bachelor acquisition, a pretty little silver and spirit affair, that did not necessitate rising from a comfortable seat; while my sister purred in soft content. I moved the shaded lamp aside to see her better—Carrie is a very presentable young woman; I thought her arms decidedly pretty.
“I think, Rol,” she said, as I looked carefully to the coffee, “I think—we will not grace the theatre this evening. It’s such a wet night, and I’m so comfy here.”