"Would you have me desert Charles in a crisis?" Cicily demanded, haughtily. "No, I'll give no one an opportunity to accuse me of desertion in the face of the enemy."
"Oh, Lord!" Delancy exclaimed; and his tone was eloquent. "Oh, no, you haven't deserted him!"
"I don't see what that has to do with it," Cicily objected, flushing painfully. "Charles and I have merely—that is, we've—broken off diplomatic relations."
At this extraordinary statement of the case, Mrs. Delancy, in her turn, flushed a dainty pink, which was wondrously becoming to her waxen cheeks, not unduly wrinkled despite her burden of years. Delancy himself forgot indignation for the moment, and laughed outright, as he regarded his wife to observe the manner in which she received the surprising information. His eyes took on a kindlier expression as he saw the change that gave her a wondrously younger look, and a rush of memories caused him to smile reminiscently, half-sadly, half-tenderly. The effect on him was apparent in the pleasanter voice with which he next addressed his niece, playfully:
"My, my! She'd be sending him home to his mother, I expect, if only he had a mother."
Cicily, still suffering in the throes of a painful embarrassment, retorted hotly:
"Uncle Jim, I'd just like to shake you!"
"Oh, don't mind my gray hairs," Delancy scoffed. "And, when you're done with me, you might spank your Aunt Emma."
That good woman shook her head dolorously, as the flush died from her face.
"I don't know what we're coming to," she mourned.