“Oh! why? He reminds me so much of an arrière pensée, a bright oasis in the desert of my life, that I feel as if I could—but why recall recollections that are fraught with bitterness, why strike a chord which produces but—discord?” letting her pointed chin drop upon the bog-oak necklet, which responded by a dull rattle.
Matilda played for the major—who marked her as the successor of the late Mrs. B——, wagging his be-wigged pate to the music and applauding with maudlin vigor.
“Exquisite! Divine! When I was quartered at Dum Dum—” And he jogged over the same road, to arrive as far as the consumar, when Mrs. Bowdler intimated that it was time to leave.
“But ye won’t go without supper? Just a sandwich and a glass of wine,” entreated Mrs. Casey.
Of course they wouldn’t go, and they didn’t go until they had partaken largely of both.
“Never was more charmed in my life,” exclaimed the colonel, as he bade good-night. “Right glad I refused Lord Howth.”
“I thought it was the commander-in-chief,” said Mrs. Casey artlessly.
“Ahem! of course, and so it was; but I have so many invites, you see, that I forget.”
Gentlemen who draw upon their imagination for their facts must needs possess accurate memories.
“You’ll all dine with us on Christmas day,” said Mrs. Casey.