MISS THOMASINA TUCKER
tave, summoning his slave and retiring to a point where he could watch the wine card. Walter brought the consommé, and then busied himself at the other tables. They would never be occupied, but it was just as well to pretend, so he set hideous colored wine-glasses, red, green, and amber, at the various places, and polished them ostentatiously with a clean napkin in the hope that the gentleman would experience a desire for liquid refreshment.
“This is very jolly, and very unexpected,” said Appleton.
“It is, indeed.”
“I hope you don’t miss the nest-egg.”
“You must n’t call it a nest-egg! That’s a stale thing, or a china one that they leave in, I don’t know why—for an example, or a pattern, or a suggestion,” said Tommy, laughing. “An egg from the nest is Miss Scattergood’s phrase, and it means a new-laid one.”
“Oh, I see!—well, do you regret it?”
“Certainly not, with this sumptuous repast just beginning!”
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