"Humphrey."
"Shall we"—the Artist dropped his voice, so that the attendant damsel might not hear—"shall we drink the health and happiness of Phillis?"
"We will, Humphrey," replied the Poet, with enthusiasm.
When they got into the train and found themselves alone in the carriage they dug each other in the ribs once, with great meaning.
"She knows," said the Poet, with a grin worthy of Mephistopheles, "that she has found a virgin heart."
"She does," said Humphrey. "O Cornelius, and the little Gretchen and the milkpails? Byronic Rover!"
"Ah, Humphrey, shall I tell her of the contadina, the black-eyed model, and the old wild days in Rome, eh? Don Giovanni!"
Then they both laughed, and then they fell asleep in the carriage, because it was long past their regular hour for the afternoon nap, and slept till the guard took their tickets at Vauxhall.
CHAPTER XXXI.
"This fellow's of exceeding honesty,