"How do you catch her?"
But the answer to this most serious inquiry was met by such a burst of laughter on the part of both the older persons in the room, that Phil had to wait; nothing daunted, however, returned to the charge.
"Uncle Phil, if you had a wife, what would her name be?"
"If ever I have one, Chauncey, her name will be—"
But here the speaker had very nearly, in his abstraction, brought out a name that would, to say the least, have astonished his sister. He caught himself up just in time, and laughed.
"If ever I have one, her name will be mine."
"I did not know, last night, but you had chosen the lady to whom you intended to do so much honour," his sister observed coolly, looking at him across her chocolate cup.
"Or who I hoped would do me so much honour. What did you think of my supposed choice?" he asked with equal coolness.
"What could I think, except that you were like all other men—distraught for a pretty face."
"One might do worse," observed Philip, in the same tone, while that of his sister grew warmer.