"Only," said Fleda trying to recover herself, "there is a slight irregularity--with you the stars are blue and the ground white."
"My dear little Fleda!" exclaimed Constance jumping up and capering round the table to kiss her, "you are too delicious for anything; and in future I will be blind to your colours; which is a piece of self-denial I am sure nobody else will practise."
"Mamma," said Edith, "what are you all talking about? Can't Constance sit down and let Fleda eat her breakfast?"
"Sit down, Constance, and eat your breakfast!"
"I will do it, mamma, out of consideration for the bacon.--Nothing else would move me."
"Are you going to Mrs. Decatur's to-night, Fleda?"
"No, Edith, I believe not"
"I'm very glad; then there'll be somebody at home. But why don't you?"
"I think on the whole I had rather not."
"Mamma," said Constance, "you have done very wrong in permitting such a thing. I know just how it will be. Mr. Thorn and Mr. Stackpole will make indefinite voyages of discovery round Mrs. Decatur's rooms, and then having a glimmering perception that the light of Miss Ringgan's eyes is in another direction they will sheer off; and you will presently see them come sailing blandly in, one after the other, and cast anchor for the evening; when to your extreme delight Mr. Stackpole and Miss Ringgan will immediately commence fighting. I shall stay at home to see!" exclaimed Constance, with little bounds of delight up and down upon her chair which this time afforded her the additional elasticity of springs,--"I will not go. I am persuaded how it will be, and I would not miss it for anything."