youth is a perfect ass, an infernal young fish, a puppy-dog--pah!"

"Aye, but," quoth my uncle George (and I could distinguish the faint
jingle of his spurs), "we roasted him devilishly to-night between us,
Jervas, and never a word out o' the lad--"

"Egad, Julia did the talking for him--"

"Ha, yes--dooce take me, she did so!" exclaimed uncle George. "What an
amazingly magnificent creature she is--"

"And did ye mark our youth's cool insolence, his disdainful airs--the
cock of his supercilious nose--curst young puppy!"

"Most glorious eyes in Christendom," continued my uncle George,
"always make me feel so dooced--er--so curst humble--no, humble's not
quite the word; what I do mean is--"

"Fatuous, George?" suggested Uncle Jervas a trifle impatiently.

"Unworthy--yes, unworthy and er--altogether dooced, d'ye see--her
whole life one of exemplary self-sacrifice and so forth, d'ye see,
Jervas--"

"Exactly, George! Julia will never marry, we know, while she has this
precious youth to pet and pamper and cherish--"

"Instead of us, Jervas!"

"Us? George, don't be a fool! She couldn't wed us both, man!"