CHAPTER XI

'Thee will I love and reverence, evermore.'

--AUBREY DE VERE.


'There, Mab, I really can't write any more,' and throwing down her pen,
regardless that it is full of ink, and that it alights on a photograph
of Teddy, thereby giving him a black eye, Miss Seaton rises from the
writing-table and flings herself into an armchair.

'Well, dear,' says Mabel, 'I said I would do them for you, after you are
gone to-morrow, look at these little china figures, I don't believe
you've glanced at them, they came from old Mrs Boothly and I fancy they
are real Sévres--?'

'At it still,' interrupts George, poking his head in at the door, 'what
it is to be on the eve of a wedding; I suppose you'll want a detective,
and, oh, by the bye where are we going to dine?'

'In your room, I thought,' replies his wife, 'you see you can go to the
club, and we shall not want much.'

'Fasting before a festival, I suppose,' says he; 'or perhaps you are
afraid you will not be able to get into that new gown of yours.'