I should like, if I had my own way, to ask him to come to us, to ask him to sit on the rugs and make jokes too, but some sort of false shame, some sneaky shyness before the boys, hinders me.

I am leaning my elbow on the soft fur of the rug, and my head on my hand, and am staring up at the stars, cool and throbbing, so like little stiletto-holes pricked in heaven's floor, as they steal out in systems and constellations on the night.
"There is dear old Charles Wain," say I, affectionately; "I never knew where to look for him in Dresden; _how_ nice it is to be at home again!" "Nancy!" says Algy, gravely, "do you know I have counted, and that is the _sixteenth_ time that you have made that ejaculation since your arrival! Do you know--I am sorry to have to say it--that it sounds as if you had not enjoyed your honey-moon very much ?" "It sounds quite wrong, then," cry I, coming down from the stars, and speaking rather sharply.

"I enjoyed it immensely; yes, _immensely_!" I say this with an emphasis which is calculated to convince not only everybody else, but even myself.
"Come, now," cries Bobby, who is farthest off from me, and, to remedy this disadvantage, begins to travel quickly, in a sitting posture, along the rugs toward me, "tell the truth--_gospel_ truth, mind!--the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God.

Would you like to be setting off on it over again, to-morrow morning ?" "Of course not," reply I, angrily; "what a silly question! Would _any one_ like to begin _any thing_ over again, just the very minute that they had finished it?
You might as well ask me would I like to have dinner over again, and begin upon a fresh plate of soup." No one is convinced.
"When _I_ marry," continues Bobby, lying flat on his back, with his hands clasped under his head (we all laugh)--"when _I_ marry, no one shall succeed in packing _me_ off to foreign parts, with my young woman.
I shall take her straight home, as if I was not ashamed of her, and we will have a _dance_, and make a clean sweep of our own cake." "Nancy!" cries Tou Tou, innocently, joining in the conversation for the first time, "_did_ any one take him for your _grandfather_, as the Brat said they would ?" "Of course not!" cry I, crossly, making a spiteful lunge, as I speak, at a _startle-de-buz_, which has lumbered booming into my face.

"Who on earth supposed they would _really_ ?" Tou Tou collapses, with a hazy impression of having been snubbed, and there is a moment's silence.