“Judge for yourself, lady fair,” said the doctor, handing Fanny the slip of paper.
Fanny looked at it for a moment and smiled, but declared it was very wicked indeed.
“Then read it for the company, and condemn me out of your own pretty mouth, Miss Dawson,” said the doctor.
“It is too wicked.”
“If it is ever so wicked,” said Father Phil, “the wickedness will be neutralised by being read by an angel.”
“Well done, St. Omer's,” cried Murphy.
“Really, Father,” said Fanny, blushing, “you are desperately gallant to-day, and just to shame you, and show how little of an angel I am, I will read the doctor's epigram:—
'Though matches are all made in heaven, they say,
Yet Hymen, who mischief oft hatches,
Sometimes deals with the house t'other side of the way,
And there they make Lucifer matches.'”
“Oh, doctor! I'm afraid you are a woman-hater,” said Mrs. Egan. “Come away, Fanny, I am sure they want to get rid of us.”
“Yes,” said Fanny, rising and joining her sister, who was leaving the room, “and now, after abusing poor Hymen, gentlemen, we leave you to your favourite worship of Bacchus.”