Constance.—"I can't let you make a joke of our liking for you."
Bartlett.—"You defend me, even in my presence. What kindness I must miss when I'm absent! Well, I will go and see what interests General Wyatt."
General Wyatt.—"Madame Le May? Yes, certainly. Remember her perfectly. False hair, false teeth, false"—
Constance.—"Why, what are you talking of, papa?"
General Wyatt.—"Mayo. Capital cavalry officer—cutting down the pay of such a man"—
Constance.—"What are you reading?" The General makes no answer.
Bartlett.—"Don't disturb him. I'll walk off here at this end of the room." He paces softly up and down, while Constance returns to her drawing, to which she diligently applies herself. A thought seems to strike Bartlett as his wandering eye falls upon General Wyatt, who still sits with his head buried in his newspaper. He approaches, and remarks in a low tone: "I believe I will take a cigar now, Gen—" The newspaper falls slightly, and Bartlett makes a discovery. The General has dropped off into a doze. With a gesture of amusement, Bartlett restores the paper to its place, and resumes his walk in a quiet rapture, interrupting it now and then to dwell in silent adoration on the young lady's absorption in the fine arts.
Constance.—"Mr. Bartlett"—
Bartlett, halting.—"Recalled from exile already? Well?"