“But we shall paint, cher Edouard!” he said, fondly. “And you are quite ready?”
“More than ready,” laughed Carrington.
He glanced at the little clock on the mantel.
“And our train goes in just two hours,” he whispered, triumphantly.
“Till then,” said Velantour, gayly. Then he crossed over to Elenore. “Mademoiselle, I will guard your brother as though he was—what is mos’ perishable in English—a bubbl’, is it not? Madame”—he bowed to Mrs. Van Velt. “Mademoiselle”—he inclined to Carol. “In two littl’ hours,” he called to Carrington from the doorway, and was gone.
“Isn’t he the dearest thing?” Carol demanded, frankly, of Bobbins.
“He’s an old brick, but not my idea of the dearest thing,” that discriminating individual replied, promptly. “I don’t suppose you could guess what my idea would be,” he insinuated.
“Oh, that’s too much of an antique,” said Miss Van Velt, with crushing promptness.
“Antique! I bought it this year,” said Bobbins, tacking, unharmed.
“Then some one is selling you back numbers,” Miss Van Velt assured him. “Try to get your money back. It’s been taking candy from children, and it ought to be stopped.”