"Oh, then it is nothing important. I rather feared that it might be."
"Don't be at all afraid, darling. He wants to show you how nicely he made the Chalcedony Spalla that used to be round my neck. He made it for my mother, in remembrance of something."
"Oh, nothing more than that. I thought you spoke of something--at least you seemed to imply--"
"Nothing that you need blush about, nor stammer either, proud Donna. You know you proved to me yesterday, when we were in the cab, that you did not care for Conny any more than you did for a flake of London soot, which happened to come in at the window, and fall upon your glove. And you were kind enough to compare him to that individual smut."
"Oh, Judy, Judy," I cried, as the dog came bounding to meet us--"darling Judy, you love Clara, if nobody else has sense enough."
And half an hour ago, Lily and I in dramatic language, vowed eternal affection!
"Oh, Clara, darling Clara, don't you know that I was in fun? I thought you were so clever. And now to see you sobbing over that great muff of a dog! Judy, I hate you, get out of the way"--the judicious would not stir--"take your great hulking paws from cousin Clara's neck. There then, make the most of that! Oh, I have hurt my hand so, and he is only wagging his tail. But I am so delighted, my own pet, that you love poor Conny still."
"And pray, who said I did?"
"Nobody, only me. All dear Papa said was this, that there was a great mistake, and he soon perceived what it was; and I asked him to take my opinion about it, because I was a senior sophist. And he pretended not to know what a senior sophist was. And I told him it was my degree, not from that man, you know, but fairly earned at the College; though they did have the impudence to say that the Professors were going to pluck me, until I gave them a smile."
"True enough, no doubt. But I know all that long ago. What more did my Uncle say?"