"
"Oh, I understand your optics as well. You like to see other folks;
taking the bitters is another thing. The tea-bell is a tocsin."
"Pshaw! _You_ don't care to see any one! But shall there be no more
cakes and ale? Haven't you any sympathy for a sweet tooth?"
"None at all."
"Not even in Mrs. Laudersdale's instance?"
"Mrs. Laudersdale has a sweet tooth, then?" Mr. Raleigh asked in return,
as if there were any trivial thing concerning her in which he could yet
be instructed.
"I'm not going to tell you anything about Mrs. Laudersdale."
"There comes that desired object, the tea-tray. It's not to be formal,
then, to-night. That's a blessing! What shall I bring you?" he
continued,--"tea or cocoa?"
"Neither. You may have the tea, and I'll leave the cocoa for Mrs.
Laudersdale."
"Mrs. Laudersdale drinks cocoa, then?"
"You may bring me some milk and macaroons."
As Mr. Raleigh was about to obey, his little apparition of the wood
suddenly appeared in the doorway, followed by her nurse,--having arisen
from the discipline of bath and brush, fair and spotless as a snowflake.
She flitted by him with a mocking recognition.
"Rite!" cried a voice from above, familiar, but with how strange a tone
in it! "Little Rite!"
"Maman!" cried the sprite, and went dancing up the stairs.
Mr. Raleigh's face, as he turned, darkened with a heavier flush than
half a score of Indian summers branded upon it afterward.
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