"Fleda, my dear, she is very saucy," said Mrs. Evelyn, sipping her tea with great comfort.
"Why should we yawn to-night any more than last night?" said Fleda; a question which Edith would certainly have asked if she had not been away at school. The breakfast was too late for both her and her father.
"Last night, my dear, your fractious disposition kept us upon half breath; there wasn't time to yawn. I meant to have eased my breast by laughing afterwards, but that expectation was stifled."
"What stifled it?"
"I was afraid!--" said Constance with a little flutter of her person up and down in her chair.
"Afraid of what?"
"And besides you know we can't have our drawing-rooms filled with distinguished foreigners every evening we are not at home. I shall direct the fowling-piece to be severe in his execution of orders to-night and let nobody in. I forgot!"--exclaimed Constance with another flutter,--"it is Mr. Thorn's night!--My dearest mamma, will you consent to have the dormeuse wheeled round with its back to the fire?--and Florence and I will take the opportunity to hear little Edith's lessons in the next room--unless Mr Decatur comes. I must endeavour to make the Manton comprehend what he has to do."
"But what is to become of Mr. Evelyn?" said Fleda; "you make Mrs. Evelyn the head of the family very unceremoniously."
"Mr. Evelyn, my dear," said Constance gravely,--"makes a futile attempt semi-weekly to beat his brains out with a club; and every successive failure encourages him to try again; the only effect being a temporary decapitation of his family; and I believe this is the night on which he periodically turns a frigid eye upon their destitution."
"You are too absurd!" said Florence, reaching over for a sausage.