“Sure, I can’t say,” he answered unsmilingly. “’Fraid I’m out of court. Never knew an Englishman to have any.”
“Can’t you spare them one at the least?” Aileen implored, gaily.
He looked at her, then at me, a twinkle in his merry Irish eyes.
“Ecod then, I concede them one! They’re good sportsmen. They follow the game until they’ve bagged it.”
We two flushed in concert, but the point of her wit touched Creagh on the riposte.
“The men of the nation being disposed of in such cavalier fashion, what shall we say of the ladies, sir?” she asked demurely.
“That they are second only to the incomparable maidens of the North,” he answered, kissing her hand in his extravagant Celtic way.
“But I will not be fubbed off with your Irish blarney. The English ladies, Mr. Creagh?” she merrily demanded.
“Come, Tony, you renegade! Have I not heard you toast a score of times the beauties of London?” said I, coming up with the heavy artillery.
“Never, I vow. Sure I always thought Edinburgh a finer city—not so dirty and, pink me, a vast deal more interesting. Now London is built——”