'Poor Giglio!' says mamma, pouring out the tea.

'Bother Giglio!' cries Angelica, tossing up her head, which rustled with
a thousand curl-papers.

'I wish,' growls the King--'I wish Giglio was. . .'

'Was better? Yes, dear, he is better,' says the Queen. 'Angelica's
little maid, Betsinda, told me so when she came to my room this morning
with my early tea.'

'You are always drinking tea,' said the monarch, with a scowl.

'It is better than drinking port or brandy and water;' replies Her
Majesty.

'Well, well, my dear, I only said you were fond of drinking tea,' said
the King of Paflagonia, with an effort as if to command his temper.
'Angelica! I hope you have plenty of new dresses; your milliners' bills
are long enough. My dear Queen, you must see and have some parties. I
prefer dinners, but of course you will be for balls. Your everlasting
blue velvet quite tires me: and, my love, I should like you to have a
new necklace. Order one. Not more than a hundred or a hundred and fifty
thousand pounds.'

'And Giglio, dear?' says the Queen.

'GIGLIO MAY GO TO THE--'