"Veal!"
"String beans"
"Soft custard"
"And paper-weight peaches of beautiful green marble. Aren't you dressed?"
"Practically. I have on my chemise and my earrings. Oh, Joe, wasn't it a heavenly walk?"
"Swell. Do you want this mass of dead vegetation you've put in the bowl, or can I wash my face?"
"Oh, are they all dead? They were such pretty wildflowers. Throw them away. I loved them when I picked them."
The personally conducted party from Manchester was having a musical evening in the lounge of the Villa Miramare when Joe and Evelyn came out for coffee after dinner. A contralto was singing about a weary heart as if her mouth were full of mashed potato. "Evelyn, you mustn't laugh," Joe whispered, severely. Then there was a sea song from a small elderly man in alpaca.
"I ought to write to mother to-night."
But he sat where he was, sleepy from the long walk, smiling at Evelyn through cigarette smoke, too con= tented to move.
"Joe, did you ever see such dancing?"
The couples hopped about, continually talking in their difficult ugly voices. "Eough, I sye!" "Eough, fahncy!" "Eough, I sye, Gwen, down't stop ply-ing—I do call thet jolly unkahnd!" The young ladies
