"Cau-ston coiffe déjà Sainte Catherine," said the ruthless Pigou: "à vingt-quatr'ans on est déjà—pff!"
"Non elle isn't pff—rude chose! But she'll tell me when we sleep out, because I'm going to have my mattress next to hers, sha'n't I, Causton?"
"Mais elle vient d'promettre——"
"—and we shall talk about all those things you always say 'Hush' when I come in—sha'n't we, Causton?"
"Prrridd-ee!" taunted the French child: and B. Major spoke.
"But I say, Causton, when do you take your vac.—June or September?"
"And where shall you go?" somebody else demanded.
"I'm going to Ireland—father's taken a house," cried a third.
"Nobody cares where you're going! Causton, will you come home with us?"
"No; come to Ireland with us!"