"Old or young?"
"Young."
"Ugly or pretty?"
"Pretty," answer I, laughing. "Ah! what a rage he would be in, if he could hear such an epithet applied to him!"
"A young, well-looking, man-friend!" says Algy, slowly recapitulating all my admissions as he lies gently puffing on the rug beside me. "Well?"
"Well!" echo I, rather snappishly. "Nothing! only that I wanted to show you that it was not quite such a duet as you imagined! Of course—Dresden is not a big place—of course we met very often, and went here and there together."
"And where was Sir Roger meanwhile?"
"Sir Roger was there, too, of course," reply I, still a little crossly, "except once or twice—certainly not more than twice—he said he did not feel inclined to come, and so we went without him."
"You left him at home, in fact!" says Algy, with a rather malicious smile, "out of harm's way, while you and the young friend marauded about the town together; it must have been very lively for him, poor man! Oh, fie! Nancy, fie!"
"We did not do any thing of the kind," cry I, now thoroughly vexed and uncomfortable. "I wish you would not misunderstand things on purpose! there is not any fun in it! Both times I wanted him to come! I asked him particularly!"