As in the most recent case of that taking but extremely terrible little person with the toothy, photographic smile, Miss Lessie Lavigne of the Jollity Theatre, the affair with whom might be counted, it was to be hoped, as the last furrow of a heavy sowing of wild oats. As this would be a match d'égal à égal—in point of blood and education, at any rate—certainly the Foltlebarres would have reason to bless their stars.
Somebody came over to her just then, saying:
"Bingo seems in excellent spirits."
She looked, a little apprehensively, across to where the Mother Superior and the wistful-eyed, pepper-and-salt-clad Chaplain were patiently listening to the recital of one of Bingo's stock anecdotes.
"What is he telling the Reverend Mother?" Her tone was anxious. "I do hope not that story about the unwashed Boer and the cake of soap!"
"Don't be alarmed. It's a recent and completely harmless anecdote about the despatch-runner from Diamond Town who got in this morning."
"Really ...? And with news worth having?"
"Mr. Casey might be disposed to think so."
"Who is Mr. Casey?"