"Ha! he! he!" laughed a young lady, hysterically, sinking into a chair, with her handkerchief to her mouth—"what a droll body!"
"He-a, he-a, he-o-o-o," more boisterously roared out a fun-loving chap, who knew more about good living than good manners. And so the laugh passed round. The cause of all this uproar, was a merry fellow, who had made a rabbit out of one of the girl's handkerchiefs, and was springing it from his hand against the wall. He seemed to have a fair appreciation of the character of his associates for the evening; and though himself perfectly competent to behave well in the best society, chose to act the clown in this.
In due course, order was restored, more from the appearance of a waiter with nuts and raisins, than from an natural reaction.
"Name my apple, Mr. Perkins,"—(don't smile, reader—it's a true picture)—whispered a young lady to the young man sitting next her.
"It is named."
"Name my apple, Mr. Collins," said Julia, with a nod and a smile.
"It is named."
"And mine, Mr. Collins"—"And mine, Mr. Warburton"—"And mine, Mr.
Jones."
The apples being eaten, the important business of counting seed came next in order.
"How many have you got, Julia?"