"What's the matter, Cis?" cried Blanche. "You have a greenery yellowy
look, and remind me of Bunthorn and the forlorn maidens all rolled up
together and sent in by parcel post."
"If I do, it's your fault, Blanche, and you are extremely unkind," she
said, tearfully. "You know you promised only the other day that when
you were married I should be first bridesmaid and choose my own frock,
and I did, and it just suited my complexion, especially in church,
with the lights from the stained windows upon it. I just dreamed of it
night and day; it's really too disappointing!"
"Is that all, Cis? I might as well cry because my pug is a shade
lighter than my new winter costume I ordered to match his coat. Don't
cry and you shall have a chair in my boudoir just to suit your
complexion (for I am going to buy an awfully nice town house)."
"Might have said we," thought her husband, but he swelled himself like
Froggie in the fable.
"Now, Cis," continued _la petite_, "isn't that a nice sugar plum for
you?"
"Sugar plum for me!" said Stuart, who thoroughly enjoyed a bit of
chaff with wee Blanche, "Sugar plum for me! Think I require one to
console me for Sir Tilton running off with you?"
"You're too big a humbug to get any from me, Mr.
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