“Eight! So many?”
“Yes, oh, indeed, yes.”
“Well, my dear, and what are they?”
“The first is—is—grannie, when were you removed from—from the bottle?”
A very delicate flush crept into Mrs. Merillia’s charming cheeks.
“The bottle, Hennessey! Never, never!” she said, with a sort of pathetic indignation. “How could you suppose—I—the bottle—”
Her pretty old voice died away.
“Answered, darling grannie, answered!” ejaculated the Prophet. “Please—please don’t! And now—your first tooth?”
“My first what!” cried Mrs. Merillia in almost terrified amazement.
“Tooth—when did you cut it?”