"I don't think I always understand what you mean; but when you look at me that way, I feel as though my maid had neglected to finish hooking me up." The novelist bowed in mock gallantry--a movement which made his ungainly form appear more grotesque than ever.

"Indeed, madam, to my humble eyes, you are most beautifully and fittingly--ah--hooked up." He turned toward the invalid.

"And how is the fortunate husband of the charming Mrs.Taine to-day ?" "Fine, Lagrange, fine," said the man--a cough interrupting his words.
"Really, I think that Gertrude is unduly alarmed about my condition.

In this glorious climate, I feel like a three-year-old." "You _are_ looking quite like yourself," returned the novelist.
"There's nothing at all the matter with me but a slight bronchial trouble," continued the other, coughing again.

Then, to his wife--"Dearest, won't you ring, please; I'm sure it's time for my toddy; perhaps Mr.Lagrange will join me in a drink.